


Cyanide for a Lady

by cincoflex



Series: Malum [2]
Category: Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial
Genre: Auntie - Freeform, Danger, Gen, Virgin Sacrifice, housekeeping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:02:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 35,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7304329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Auntie's past comes calling, Sir Ravi faces an unpleasant truth, and Samantha wears lace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part two of a series; will make more sense if you read 'Mala Propter Malum' first.

Cyanide for a Lady

_Sebastian_

The party coming up at Lychgate Hall was going to be to celebrate Auntie’s birthday, but in truth it was also a convenient moment to have my Partnership with Samantha sanctioned as well. She and I had decided to enter into it a month earlier and in that time we’d created a massively detailed document that covered not what the mutual benefits of the partnership would be, but also laid out specific terms for all sorts of related matters between us.  
It had been fun to draw it up, actually—I’d never given much thought to sharing accountability with someone else before, and Samantha was far more practical about some of it.

“You may have access to my labs but not my data files; certainly you need your own wardrobe here at the house along with your preferred condiments in the fridge and kitchen cabinets, whatever personal grooming supplies you like, and designated space for Mr. Slowpoke,” Samantha told me. “However, here at the house I set the thermostat and the music choices, and if you break into my PMS supply of chocolate without replacing it, I _will_ be forced to cause you bodily harm.”

“Agreed,” I’d countered. “You shall have access to my professional offices and the home study at the townhouse but not to my data files. I’m giving you your own suite at the townhouse for purposes of wardrobe, along with putting you on the insurance for the Jag and the helicopter.”

“Helicopter?”

I looked up at her at the other end of the sofa at her house. We were propped at either end of the monstrosity, our legs comfortably entwined as we each worked out some of the details on our tablets. I grinned. “Mantha, Blackguard has _two_ and a helipad on the roof.”

Her eyes were big. “Oh we have to go flying!”

“We will but not right now. What about holidays?”

“Well, I do Christmas, a little Halloween and sometimes Thanksgiving if I’m in the States but not much beyond those,” she told me, her nose scrunching up adorably as she thought about it. “Usually I just work _through_ the holidays.”

“How familiar,” I mused. “Well I can tell you know that Auntie will probably want us to stop in on Christmas Day. Halloween is a definite, but not Thanksgiving. There is also one’s Villain Anniversary which is fun to celebrate. Mine’s the second of October. Yours would be the ninth of July. And birthdays of course.”

“Villain Anniversary? So do you get cards or something? Throw a party, have a cake?” Samantha wanted to know.

“In older days a Villain would go and commit a notable crime to observe the happy occasion,” I smirked. “A re-dedication to evil ways, but it’s been toned down considerably now. Sir Gareth likes to fire his entire household staff even though he re-hires them the next day, and Danny’s been known to bring a briefcase of raw steaks to the tiger enclave of the London zoo for an extra unauthorized feeding.”

“And you?” Samantha gave me a knowing look; I gave a little sigh.

“I once gave the local sixth form unlimited internet access to Porn Hub for the day, and another time I disabled all the parking meters only on the East side of London.”

She giggled, plastering a hand over her mouth. “That’s awful!”

“It was . . . wonderfully evil,” I countered. “Well within the spirit of the day without lasting damage. Keep in mind you’ll have to think of something when the ninth of July rolls around again.”

“Mad Scientist,” Samantha pointed out patiently. “Mine would have to be more in keeping with that theme.”

“Well you’ve got oodles of time; nearly a year for it. In the meanwhile, I think we need to add in a socialization clause.”

I felt Samantha’s bare foot slide along the outside of my thigh and I grabbed it, making her laugh before she asked, “Socialization. As in we need to socialize?”

“As in,” I informed her, “When we do, we are a team; a pair; a duo at social events.”

“A couple,” she acknowledged. “And in private?”

“We’re lovers, best friends, companions and . . .”

“Dorks,” Samantha supplied dryly. “ _Huge_ dorks.”

And that was why I loved her as much as I did: because my darling ‘Mantha always told the truth. I wanted to marry her very much but whenever I had hinted at it she always pointed out how we hadn’t known each other long enough yet. Pressed, Samantha had told me we needed at least a _year_ together; a time limit that chafed me a bit but was on the face of it, reasonable.

“And babies?” I had asked, simply because I knew if I didn’t ask Auntie would.

‘Mantha had smiled at me. “Babies would be lovely. _Definitely_ babies. Maybe we can start working on _that_ by New Years.”

I had gone around for a week after that comment grinning like a loon.

But it did beg the question of our consummation which we were fast approaching. Both of us had been determined to do our best for each other, and that meant a great deal of time lingering at the various stages of foreplay. To be honest I was enjoying it more than I thought I would: teaching my luscious virgin lover how to stroke me, learning how to touch and taste her; how to draw out our mutual pleasure in kissing and rubbing was proving to be an amazing training ground for both of us. Me for building patient stamina and ‘Mantha for gaining a degree of comfortable pleasure from her body.

She was so beautiful to me; round and soft and sweet, blessed with abundant curves and a degree of natural sensuality. Unfortunately it was taking a while for her to accept that my lust for her was genuine but I was patient. How could I not be? She was everything I adored and more. And both of us were so very hungry for simple affection as well. I hadn’t realized how much so—holding hands, hugging, even this moment of our intertwined legs on the sofa were fast becoming integrated in our daily lives now.

And I confess it did my heart good to see her blossom. Not that I was entirely responsible for it, but love and affection were bringing out the sweeter woman inside; the one I’d known was in there. I’d like to believe she was doing the same for me, and that I was becoming a better person myself, but if so, it was all to _her_ credit.

“We are dorks,” I agreed. “So . . . Auntie’s party tomorrow night. We’ll have Talbot Jennings put the Seal on our agreement with Sir Gareth and Danny as witnesses to it. Um, we do have to put it in our blood however it can be drawn prior and brought to the party.”

“Real blood? Not very sanitary but I suppose it’s for DNA verification.”

“I don’t think Villains in the past were thinking of that so much as making the whole compact mysterious and fear-inducing. More visual symbolism than practical identification,” I murmured.

“Hmm,” Samantha replied. “Well it’s all about the image I suppose. What about _afterwards_?” This came out in a slightly more suggestive tone, one that made my pulse jump a bit.

“Afterwards?”

“ _I_ think it would be time to seal it--con amor.”

I’d hoped for as much but it was still gratifying to hear. “Oh siiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” I couldn’t help but purr, “That would be altogether fitting and wonderful. Mind you, we may have to leave the party early of course.”

She batted her eyes. “Of course.”

I might have said more but my mobile rang and glancing at it, I saw it was Donovan, my agent in Scotland. I hadn’t been expecting a call from him which was worrying. “Slay here.”

“Mr. Slay, I’m sorry to have to tell you that there’s been a break-in at Horrick House,” came his burly tones. “I’ve tried to reach Lady Montmort-Slay but she’s not answering and since Blackguard’s responsible for the security here I figured it would be best to reach you. Burgled, with the majority of the missing items from the bedrooms. I’m having a team check the videos and security systems now, but we don’t know much at this point. The police are just arriving.”

“Co-operate _fully_ ,” I told him, snapping into work mode. “Get a list of what’s missing and what you _suspect_ is missing and run it against the Estate files. I’d like a cross check of all street cameras leading up to the House and look into all the hotels in Arbroath—have Chu work on that with anyone he trusts to be discreet. I’ll expect to be updated within the hour. Leave Lady Montmort-Slay to me.”

Samantha had already curled up her legs and was looking at me as I hung up. “Something’s been stolen?”

“Horrick House, in Scotland. Auntie’s girlhood home,” I told her, already rising and making a mental list. “It’s been broken into and because I’m responsible for the security I’m taking this personally. I’ve got to go and tell her myself,” I added. “She’s going to be pissed.”

***

I wasn’t wrong on that; Auntie was up to her elbows in potting mulch and furious with my news. “It was _supposed_ to be secure!” she chided me. “All the latest systems, Sebastian! How utterly vexing!”

“Yes,” I agreed, which disarmed her a bit. “I’m rather put out about it myself. The Greys are still in hospital sleeping off the drugs slipped into their evening tea so I’ve got guards up there right now. Unfortunately we had to let the police investigate.”

Auntie gave an irritated shrug. “Of course, but I doubt they’re going to find much. Any idea of what was taken?”

“Donovan’s getting a list together now,” I told her, taking the palm she’d just re-potted and shifting it off the workbench. Auntie stepped to the galvanized sink and rinsed her hands off in quick jerky movements that told me she was deeply upset. “So far it seems to be jewelry and a few knickknacks—nothing Villain related or incriminating so far. We’ll know more when the Greys can help us check the rooms.”

She fumed for a moment, and then turned to me, taking a deep breath. “All right. I suppose these things happen in the course of one’s life, and while I’m not happy, at least it’s not worse: the Greys will recover and the House is still standing. Still, right before the party—it’s going to prey on my mind you know.”

I nodded and put an arm around her. “I know, I know-the timing is terrible, but I’ll get to the bottom of it; it’s _my_ reputation on the line here.”

“It _is_ , isn’t it?” Auntie looked up at me with a hint of tease now. “Now I shall have to downgrade my review of Blackguard on Yelp.”

“Yes well if it helps any, Samantha likes the idea of babies.”

Auntie perked up. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” I grinned. “There, doesn’t that lift your spirits?”

“Considerably,” Auntie gave me a calculating look. “What about you?”

“It lifts my spirits too,” I told her cheerfully. “Although I’d like to at least get the Partnership sealed before anything else.”

“Oh don’t hesitate on my account,” Auntie murmured. “I suspect the two of you can . . . multi-task. Tell me is it too early to order pink and blue balloons?”

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Samantha_

So my life had gotten interesting and kept getting MORE interesting, which is a nice way of saying ‘complicated’ ‘romantic’ ‘confusing’ and ‘fun’ all in one. I had my own laboratory, which was nothing short of a dream come true; my pick of employees, which was another blessing; a nice house; a decent nest egg in the bank and a Significant Other, _not_ in the bank.

Oh, and I was officially a Mad Scientist. Not the sort that crosses the lines of ethics (too much) or defies Higher Powers or anything too dangerous, just one who gets to do _what_ she wants _when_ she wants without too much interference. That part was downright amazing and I was still pinching myself over the idea of following through on the notebook of ideas I’d been jotting down for years. Food research, nano work, whole lines of chemistry I’d been dying to get to but hadn’t thanks to my brother . . . I was in heaven at work.

I had good employees, too. J-J O’Tanka was my lead for engineering, and I had Mohammad Fatah working for me part-time on the bio-chemistry things. Mohammad was the only one from my brother’s lab that I trusted completely but he’d gotten a job teaching at one of the local universities so I had to share him. I could pay him more, but I knew his heart was in teaching so I didn’t push. I also had dear Mr. Otterly to generally manage the lab and do the bookwork. He was a whip-thin retired British Commando who’d been trained by Mrs. Willow. I suspect he had a crush on her because he always spoke fondly of the many times she’d beaten him whenever they sparred.

Yeah it was all going good on the homefront too. Seb and I were meandering our way towards actual intercourse mostly because I was being twitchy about it. Aside from all my own body image issues that I was dealing with, I was also fascinated and a little afraid of Seb’s body. I’d seen images of naked men before but they hadn’t prepared me for how strong and sensual and um, big they could be. How big _it_ could be. And yes, that’s a very virgin thing to say but when you’ve never dealt with an erection before they’re kind of mesmerizing. And ludicrous. I mean seriously, a great big stiff staff to deliver three ounces of semen? In terms of biology it seemed like overkill for propagation.

That’s the scientist in me. The woman in me is still pretty delighted with the damned thing and the man attached to it. I’ve gone from touching and stroking to, um, much more, and it’s been a quick learning cycle. I guess it’s safe to say I love all the physical aspects of the man: taste, scent, touch, sound and sight. Besotted? Maybe just a little, but I’ve waited a long time to be this happy.

So I was looking forward to making love fully, which is not something I ever thought would happen for me. In years past I was sure I’d end up a spinster scientist, dedicating my time and energy to whatever lab I lived in—sort of like Barbara McClintock, I guess.

It’s wonderfully funny how things can change.

I was worried about this break-in though, mostly because Seb was worried about it. Having gone through a similar incident earlier this year myself I knew how disorienting it could be, and even if Eglantine wasn’t living there, the sense of violation had to be unnerving for her. I hoped it was minor and that nothing too important was taken; I’d ask her at the party just to be sure. 

It also took me a while to figure out a birthday present for Eglantine . . . I mean what do you get for a woman who has practically _everything_ , right? But I lucked out because I’d lived with her for a few months and knew her hobbies. I’d been tinkering with a nutritional formula specifically for plants, and had finally perfected a rose food. Forget your average fertilizer—this stuff would bring out blooms the size of cabbages, and I was pretty sure Eglantine would love it. I packed it up in a sleek pretty tin and wrote out the instructions for it by hand, hoping she’d like it.

And then there was the dress. This party would be semi-formal, and that meant everyone would be incredibly glamorous. I knew Seb was going to be in black tie mostly because he was taking the Partnership ceremony so seriously, so I let the fashion consultant Madame Dentelle make suggestions for me.

“The green velvet would be _most_ stunning on you, Mademoiselle. Paired with cascade diamond earrings and a single strand at the throat,” Madame Dentelle warbled. She always sounded like she was singing.

“I don’t _own_ diamonds.”

“Madam Montmort-Slay has given you access to her vast collection in perpetuity,” came the consultant’s reply and when I looked shocked, she dimpled. “Generous, non?”

“Uh, very.” Now I was terrified. Real diamonds? Undoubtedly _irreplaceable_ diamonds?

“Non,” Madam Dentelle told me, taking my hands and squeezing them. “You will NOT panic! You are not to worry about anything tonight! Tonight you shall be stunning!”

A big promise but given how stern she looked I swallowed and nodded.

“Better. Now, the green velvet with the matching shoes, small bag in silver and I think a hint of silver in the eye shadow. Monsieur Slay will be dying of love for you. Even more than he _is_ already.”

I was starting to think the whole of London was in on our romance.

“All right, um, thank you.”

She waved a dismissing hand at me and smiled with those dimples showing again. “My pleasure I assure you. Your coloring and palette are so beautifully exotique, Mademoiselle; I love the choices you give for me and my designs!”

I blushed, because out of all the things I’d ever been complimented on this hadn’t been one, and I walked out of the shop feeling like I might actually be able to forget about wearing someone else’s thousand dollar jewelry for the night . . .

Nope. Still worried.

*** *** *** 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, Seb we can’t. There are _rules_ about things like this, my love. You know that.”

He harrumphed. I never thought I’d hear a man under the age of sixty do that, but Sebastian clearly did, his frustration obvious. We were headed towards Lychgate Hall, the sun just setting along the western horizon. Traffic was light but he was in a grumpy mood and well above the speed limit.

“Rules. Villains _break_ rules. It’s what we’re known for, part of our very definition.”

“Nevertheless, it is your aunt’s birthday and we are going to stay all the way until she serves her cake. That. Is. The. Rule.”

I knew perfectly well why he wanted to leave early and I’d be lying if I didn’t want to myself. He looked utterly scrumptious in black tie, and now that the goatee had finally grown in, Sebastian Slay did indeed really look like a Villain, grrrrr. It didn’t help that between shifting gears he would rest his hand on my knee, either.

“All right then. _Fine._ We’ll stay until the cake,” he sighed with all the drama of a teenager. “But not one minute later.”

I laughed. “You really _are_ hot to trot tonight, aren’t you? Sheesh!”

“Mantha darling, you are gorgeous, especially so right now. I will be thrilled to show you off, and delighted to be officially Partnered with you, but the inner me is also eager for private time with you tonight.”

I laid my hand over his on my knee. “Yes well I’m looking forward to that too, but the anticipation is delicious . . . like a fabulous dessert at the end of a good meal. We’ll be polite guests for this and when we do leave we can do so knowing we did the right thing. Our consciences will be clear.”

“I detest it when you have the moral high ground over my snit,” he muttered half-heartedly.

“Don’t you worry,” I assured him. “It won’t last.”

Within twenty minutes we were turning onto the long gravel drive that led to Lychgate Hall. All the lights were on and the windows glowed. I could hear music and when Seb came around to open my door I beamed up at him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and . . .” he bent closer, “you’re lovely.”

“Would you like to know a secret?” I murmured to him conversationally as we strolled in the big front doors.

Seb gave an absent little noise of assent, looking around to see who was there. I leaned closer to his ear. “I’m _not_ sure I’m wearing panties.”

He flinched ever so slightly. Looking at his profile I watched him swallow. “ _That . . . is evil_ , my darling. _Intensely_ evil of you,” Sebastian rasped in a voice for me alone.

“Thank you,” I told him sweetly, and began to shake hands with people in the foyer.

*** *** *** 

“And thus the Partnership between the Villain Sebastian Slay and the Mad Scientist Samantha López-Campbell is officially acknowledged in the London Cadre from today until such time as it is dissolved through mutual decision, death, or murder. If I may have your signatures please,” Talbot Jennings intoned in his deep voice. I was a little unsteady, feeling overwhelmed for a moment by it all but this was happening and I did want to go through with it. I held out a small test tube as across from me Sebastian did the same. He smiled at me but I could see a little sweat along his temple and seeing it made me feel better. 

Not the only nervous one here, I knew.

Talbot Jennings took them, uncapped them and handed mine to Seb while at the same time giving Seb’s to me. We dipped our quills in the tubes and one at a time wrote our names in each other’s blood at the bottom of the pronouncement page. (In case anyone wants to know, blood is tricky as an ink; it’s thicker and smears a bit.) Still, our signatures were legible.

As Talbot Jennings tossed the two vials into the fireplace flames, I heard Eglantine sniffling and even Sir Ravi looked . . . moved. Frankly I was feeling pretty emotional but I didn’t get a chance to say anything because Danny lifted a glass of champagne. “Oi! To a deadly and devastating Partnership!”

“Here Here!” echoed in the drawing room. Suddenly I had a glass in my hand and Seb was clinking his with mine, grinning at me. We drank the toast and then I was hugged by Eglantine and Danny and even Sir Ravi, who urged me to call him Sir Gareth now. When I finally made it around to Seb, he took my hands and kissed them, which was pretty romantic.

“To _us_ ,” he murmured. I loved the way his eyes sparkled in the firelight.

“To _us_ ,” I echoed, feeling a little buzz now from the champagne. 

“To the salon and back to our _guests_ ,” Eglantine ordered in that imperious way of hers. “I’ve got a crème Brule triple layer creation from Maxim’s bakery and it’s waited long enough!”

The cake was wonderful and at any other time I would have loved to linger over it but from the way Seb kept sliding a hand along my thigh under the table it was clear that we needed to make our way home. It was hilarious the way he fumbled through his excuse to Eglantine, who gave him the Look as he did so. Over his shoulder she winked at me, and I grinned.

And you know what? Jaguars really _can_ go up to a hundred and eighty miles an hour.


	3. Chapter 3

_Sebastian_

I was more moved by the Partnership rite than I wanted to admit. I’m not openly sentimental--although Auntie tends to claim I am-- but having dear friends there to witness the ceremony, and having Samantha looking nervous and pleased and lovely did a lot for my heart. Somewhere in the back of my thoughts I considered it a rehearsal for a wedding I suppose, although this one was simpler and much more practical in nature.

Still, the moment was indeed special, and had I not other urgent interests I might have wanted to stay at Auntie’s party a while longer. But my beloved had planted a naughty possibility that preyed on my thoughts and libido so as soon as was politely permissible I whisked Samantha off and for home. I said nothing, kept as cool an expression as I could which didn’t seem to fool her at all; she gave me that infuriatingly cute smile every time I looked over at her in the dim interior of the Jag.

We made excellent time to London and I was tempted to take her to mine but turned instead for _her_ house; the bed there was bigger. I slid a hand over her knee but instead of simply resting it there, I began to inch up the velvet. I took it as a good sign when Samantha didn’t stop me. “You’re _not_ going to tear this dress,” came her warning.

“That remains to be seen.”

We pulled up to the Kensal Victorian and I turned the car off, taking a moment to calm myself. We had the entire night ahead of us, and although I’d have to leave for Scotland in the morning that didn’t justify rushing anything. I must have said it aloud because Samantha gave a soft chuckle.

“No rush, hmm? So that explains breaking all the speed limits?”

I turned my head to look at her, sighing softly. “Do you know you’re a very _provoking_ woman?”

“It’s been said to me once or twice,” she admitted, and we got out of the car. The minute I took her hand in mine, however, whatever nervousness I had vanished. We strolled to the front door and I pinned her against it with my body, kissing her in the darkness. Samantha’s arms slipped around me and I lost myself for a few minutes in the hot sweetness of her mouth and teasing tongue, feeling a fresh surge of desire for her.

Then the motion detection lights went on, nearly blinding us. She laughed, a deep throaty sound of amusement that made _me_ laugh as well.

“Inside,” I told her. “We needn’t be in the spotlights for this.”

She darted in ahead of me, and I caught up with her halfway up the stairs, right at the little landing between floors. This time there were no high intensity lights, and while snogging her I managed to get both hands up and under the hem of her dress, discovering by touch that beyond the suspender belt for her stockings it was all warm bare skin: Samantha truly was sans lingerie.

I was going a little mad by this point, driven by desire and admiration for her sangfroid but my darling didn’t waste time either. She had my jacket off and my shirt open far more quickly than I would have myself, and I heard the sound of my shirt studs tinkling at they hit the floor. We fumbled our way up the rest of the stairs, discarding bits of clothing along the way, kissing, cursing lightly and mutually determined to reach the bedroom and we _almost_ made it, but I took us on a detour to . . . the linen cupboard.

This inset space had a counter that was just the right height for pushing Samantha against, for making her sit while I pulled up her hem and began kissing her knees, nudging them wide with my shoulders. Startled she let me, making the most wonderful moaning sounds as I did so.

“Seb, the bedroom’s . . . ohhh . . .”

If I was making her lose focus, things were going well. Ah those sleek thighs! I hooked my fingers around the lacy straps and rubbed my face up one leg, letting my goatee tickle her. I’d learned to be gentle, but the brush of it was effective; Samantha gave a little gasp and wriggled. A few lingering kisses and a flick of tongue along one inner thigh was enough to have me at full stand by now, painfully so, damn it. 

She was gripping the edge of the counter with one hand and bracing the other against the wall when I gently stroked the delicate curls nestled between those thighs, parting them and following that with kisses along the sweetest slickest part of my darling. Samantha writhed, the scratch of her nails on the wall egged me on.

And the taste of her! I’ve never had a problem with orality, and Samantha was absolutely delicious; the closest equivalent I can think of is a butter honey flavor. I shifted one of her knees over my shoulder and licked, gripping her hips to keep her steady, indulging myself in this wicked pleasure even as I throbbed for her myself. Under my tongue I felt the sweet little button stiffen and pulse so I slowed my pace for long mad moments even as Samantha rocked her hips against my lips.

“Maldito! Si, si mi amorrrrrrrrrrrrr . . . . uhhhh!” she trilled out, thighs tightening around me as I felt the shivers of climax roll through her. Carefully I slowed, letting her drift in her pleasure before sighing and resting my cheek against her damp inner thigh.

There is nothing in the universe that makes a man feel as loved as this. I may not know _everything_ , but knowing how to make Samantha happy is enough.

Almost. There was the matter of my own aching arousal, and as I got to my feet my darling slid off the counter onto hers, wobbly but smiling, her dress sliding down again. She kissed me, tasting herself in my mouth and not at all bothered by it. “I love you Sebastian,” she told me urgently. “I need you.”

And after that it was perfect. Out of our clothes and into the sheets, more kisses, more touching, more whispers. I laid her on her back and took in the sight of her in glittering diamonds and stockings, mouth soft and dark eyes bright with unspilled tears and all that glorious dark hair spread over the pillows.

“Now,” I told her after slipping on the condom, and dropped my body onto hers, guiding myself between her thighs. She reached to help, biting her lower lip a bit as I breached her, and then--

That first slow push was unforgettable. The steam-slick squeeze of her cleft around me had me taut as a bow pulled to its limit. I was _determined_ to be gentle and patient . . .

“ _Do_ it!” she hissed at me, bucking her generous hips up.

My God! I rocked into her and within moments we were caught up in a hard rhythm; all lust and thrust and growls. She cried out, hands raking my back but I was too far gone in the demands of my body to feel anything but the glorious pleasure of our lovemaking. The heat and madness that we had locked ourselves into had me fighting a losing battle for any control at this point.

“Darling,” I gasped between kisses and strokes. Samantha’s eyes fluttered open and in them I saw the tears fall, knew then how much she loved me.

And that was enough; the white-hot flare of my climax was so strong I felt the sheets tear in my clutching fingers. I came hard, pulse after pulse, arching into her deeply. When I finally collapsed, she held me, neither of us wanting to move despite the heat and trickles and sweat. I suppose that’s a part of love too.

Finally, nearly twenty minutes later I took it upon myself to shift off of her very reluctantly, kissing her breasts and belly and shoulders and neck before taking care of the condom. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” she purred. “I’m a woman of the world now!”

“Shhhhh. You’re the woman in my arms,” I murmured, pulling her to me. “The woman in mi corazón, ‘Mantha my love.”

*** *** *** 

I wish I could say I got a good night’s sleep, but after being . . . active . . . at midnight, and two fifteen, three forty seven and once again at six twelve my sleep cycle was very out of sync. On the other hand, my mood was amazingly good and our supply of condoms had gone down significantly. Samantha brought me Columbia coffee as I dressed and then watched from the bed.

“I’m going to be limping today,” she told me in an accusing tone that didn’t match the little grin on her face.

“That’s not all _my_ fault,” I shot back, trying to find my other boot.

“Oh I know but you’ll be strutting around in Arbroath being studly,” ‘Mantha rolled her eyes. “Whereas I’ll have to deal with some knowing smirks around here.”

“Actually I’ll be trying to figure out _who_ stole _what_ from a cold, drafty, LONELY country estate while you’ll be here in a warm bed sleeping _in_ most likely,” I pointed out. “Have you seen my other boot?”

“Closet, right hand side. So you’ll be gone until Tuesday?”

“Yes,” I sighed, finding my footwear and slipping it on. “Barring any developments I’m giving myself two days to work it out. With luck I’ll be able to catch an earlier flight. Charger?”

“Nightstand. All right,” she sighed. “Tuesday then. I’ve got enough to do that I won’t fret too much. It will give me time to recover.”

I arched an eyebrow at her and she gave me a demure expression. “Let’s face it, Seb--accommodating you IS . . . a stretch for me.”

I leaned over her on the bed and kissed her forehead, nose and mouth before giving her forehead curl a little tug. “And yet _who_ was it that kept waking me up? Who was it _who_ rode me like a birthday pony most of the night?”

“I’m pleading the Fifth.”

“We’re in England; there is no equivalent, my darling,” I pointed out with a grin.

Samantha drove me to London City Airport and saw me off, kissing me sweetly before dropping me kerbside. I caught a local to Dundee napped for the flight, hired a car and got to Arbroath a little before eleven. Once in town I headed to the security office to meet up with Donovan.

“Morning sir,” he shook my hand in his burly one. Everything about Donovan was burly. “The police would like to talk to you and I figure that’s best to get out of the way first since after that they can close the crime scene. I’ve also got a preliminary list of missing goods that I’ve compiled and it isn’t much.”

I nodded, taking a look at it; he was right. “That’s all?”

“Aye sir,” he assured me.

“A bottle of perfume; an oil painting; a few necklaces; a scarf and a pendant?” I muttered, feeling a little underwhelmed. “What was the painting?”

“Not sure sir; haven’t checked with Mrs. Grey yet, but it was in one of the upstairs bedrooms,” Donovan told me. “I thought whoever it was must have been disturbed before going for something larger.”

“It’s a possibility,” I agreed. “All right, let’s talk to the police.”

It only took an hour for the detective sergeant in charge to clear the scene and take our particulars. They had no leads either, and given the modest nature of the goods taken were left with calling it breaking and entering with petty theft should they find someone to charge.

I sent Donovan to talk to the Greys in hospital and walked around Horrick House. Fortunately it was sunny but still brisk, and I re-familiarized myself with it. The place was grand enough, but mildewed and at this point somewhat neglected; rather like an old formal suit hanging in the back of a closet. Still, I had spent a few summers here with Auntie and knew it well enough, creaks and groans and dust.

Upstairs I looked for the traces that showed me it was the master bedroom that had been targeted. As I stepped in, I looked to the left wall, seeing a pale square of wallpaper where the stolen picture had once hung. Auntie’s portrait, I remembered. Done when she had been a debutante presented to the Queen back in 1952.

Odd. My gaze fell to the vanity and I saw the traces of dust and hints of fingerprint powder that coated the fine wood and drawer pulls. Then I blinked.

An atomizer perfume bottle sat there. I moved closer, looking carefully as a shaft of sun hit the vanity top. Yes . . . a faint dark circle just off the edge where the bottle now sat.

The perfume had been moved and replaced.

I picked it up; the peeling label read _L’Heure Bleue._ I squeezed the fat bulb and it hissed; I sniffed the air to breathe in the faint floral scent I always associated with Auntie, but a little more musk vinegar to it.

Setting it down again, I looked to see if the painting was in the room, perhaps resting against a wall or chair leg, but there was nothing there. I looked at the wall, at the ancient nail that once held the oil portrait up.

And I _knew_ I was going to have to call Auntie about this.


	4. Chapter 4

_Samantha_

The first thing I needed to do was to return Eglantine’s jewelry, so once I got back from dropping Seb off at the airport I collected the earrings and choker. I rinsed them off in distilled water, not sure if any um, bodily fluids had gotten on them from those first two sessions. I’d only remembered I was wearing them sometime after two in the morning so it seemed prudent to clean them off, drying them on my best hand towel.

Gorgeous pieces. Not really my style but I was grateful for the loan and they had looked great with the dress. I packed them back into their velvet boxes and carried them out to the car, calling to see if Eglantine was home. I took the dress too, which needed dry cleaning, along with a few of Seb’s suits. So very domestic of me.

Eglantine sounded cheerful. Sounded like someone who’d gotten a full night’s sleep in fact, and I tried not to yawn as she invited me out. “Do, and we’ll have tea, darling. I’ve just gotten a new green shotgun blend as a surprise gift and we’ll try it out.”

I agreed and headed for the Hall, making the trip in good time. Nothing like Seb’s driving the night before but at least I wasn’t about to get any tickets. As I pulled up on the gravel drive about an hour later, Alistair came out to open my door and smile at me. “Doctor López-Campbell. Lady Eglantine has instructed me to tell you she is in the kitchen. Shall I park this for you?”

“Yes, thank you,” I told him, taking the cases with me. I liked Alistair, who always treated me well even when I was a scared homeless houseguest here. I made my way in and to the kitchen where Eglantine was slacks and a sweater sitting and reading the newspaper. She beamed at me. “Samantha dear! How are you this morning?”

“Good,” I told her, trying not to grin too much. “Very good. Thank you for the loan of these; I wanted to get them back to you as soon as possible since I don’t have a safe at the house. I do at the lab, but that’s for dangerous specimens and it’s pretty cold.”

“They _do_ call diamonds ‘ice,’” Eglantine chuckled, rising and taking the boxes from me before giving me a light hug. “Come, sit.”

She packed off the boxes somewhere and puttered around the kitchen making tea while I watched. “So I took Seb to the airport this morning.”

“Ah yes, he _did_ say he’d look into the break-in for me.”

“Yeah. From the sound of it he plans to be back by Tuesday.”

“Contingent I suppose,” she murmured. “Biscuits?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“So, how goes the first day of your Partnership?” Eglantine brought the tea tray to the table and began to pour. “Productive I hope?”

I tried to look noncommittal and ruined it by yawning. Eglantine gave me a pointed look and we both laughed a little.

“So far so good,” I told her, picking up one of the cookies. “As these things go. I haven’t been in a Partnership before.”

“Originally they were created for ‘mutual benefit and profit,’” Eglantine murmured putting a spoonful of sugar in her tea and stirring it. “I was in one _many_ years ago; not quite a perfect love match but certainly supportive and worth it. My particular set of skills in Villainy weren’t often needed, and it was nice to have the backing at the time.”

“Really? What happened? Uh, I mean, if you want to tell me. I’ll understand if you don’t,” I blustered. Eglantine was a private person and I wasn’t sure if Partnerships were quite the same as relationships per se.

“She was convicted of embezzling from her financial clients in a huge scandal,” Eglantine sighed. “Pauline had always been overly-ambitious from the get-go. Of course she fought the charges, but there was ample evidence against her and since part of what she’d taken had been invested by the Cadre, they went hard against her. She died in Holloway about . . . gracious has it been thirty _years_ now?”

I was stunned; I blinked a little and Eglantine gave me a slightly chiding look. “Really, Samantha, it is the twentieth _century_ you know. People can be bisexual far more _openly_ now than in my day, Swinging Sixties notwithstanding.”

“I . . . yes, I know. I just . . . didn’t _know_.”

Eglantine cradled her long hands around her cup and I saw she was blushing ever so slightly. “Yes well it’s not something discussed much I suppose, but it’s who I am. Nearly married twice, had a lovely girlfriend for a decade . . . clearly I’m the black sheep of the Slay family.”

“No, I don’t think so,” I told her reassuringly. “None of you are sheep—"

Her mobile rang in the tone that I knew was Seb’s; giving me an apologetic look Eglantine answered it, “Yes?”

I could only hear one side of the conversation and I was trying not to, so I took a sip of the tea, trying to cope with what I’d just learned.

“My what? From the Master bedroom? No. Did they find the safe?” Eglantine asked urgently. “Did they open it?”

The tea was bitter so I pushed it aside. Part of me wanted to leave and give her some privacy but I was in the circle now and I’d hear about what was going on when Seb got back anyway. I had another cookie.

“Well that tears it,” Eglantine growled. “You need to move the contents immediately. I don’t care if they didn’t open it; the fact that they knew where it was compromises any security it may have had. Yes, I agree. All right. No, you needn’t go _that_ far, dear.”

She looked at me and gave a roll of her eyes. “Dear boy I’ve been stalked before and I _do_ know something about being harassed. Yes, I will. Yes. All right, good-bye then.”

Eglantine broke the connection and weighed the mobile in her hand before she spoke. “Sebastian thinks the break-in was done by someone who knew me, or knows me and I agree. It has all the hallmarks of it, so now I’ll have to try and figure out who it might be. And that means bodyguards and extra security, which is a bother.”

“Stalked?” this struck me as intensely creepy. “Shouldn’t you . . . call the police?”

Eglantine gave me one of those patient smiles. “Given what I’ve done for a living, I don’t think that’s a wise idea, dear. Villainy handles its own in this case, and we’re more efficient about it. No, this is going to take some research and detective work.”

I blinked. “Can I help?”

She looked as if she was going to dismiss my offer, thought better of it, and nodded. “Well that’s very kind of you, and yes, thank you. I’m not sure what you can do at the moment but I appreciate it.” She patted my hand. “Now, about that rose food . . . can you show me how to apply it?”

We left the tea and went into her garden, where I took a moment to give Eglantine the basics of what I’d created and how to use it. I sort of moved on autopilot since I was still a few steps behind in mentally processing everything, but she was patient with me and gave me a few roses to take home.

“I suppose this really is a welcome to the family,” she murmured to me as we wandered the beautifully laid out paths. “I hope I haven’t shocked you too much.”

I slipped an arm around her thin shoulders and gave her a quick hug. “Not really. When you met me, _you_ weren’t judgmental.”

“I was too thrilled by the idea that Sebastian had finally fallen for someone,” Eglantine laughed. “And when I _met_ you, I could see why. Took him long enough.”

I blushed. We made small talk about getting together soon for lunch with Mrs. Willow and I headed back to London, feeling pleased and enjoying the scent of roses in the car.

After dropping off the dry-cleaning, I headed to Sebastian’s place and picked up Mr. Slowpoke. Mrs. Keene helped me get him into the travel crate and gave me a list of his preferred greens and a generous cooler full of them.

“He’s a good tortoise as they go,” she assured me. “Just mind your fingers, Miss, and you’ll be fine. Please remind Mr. Slay that I’ll be back in two weeks.”

I nodded. I liked Mrs. Keene, who made some of the best omelets I’d ever eaten. She grinned and waved as I drove off, taking Mr. Slowpoke to his new compound at my house.

After setting him up, I needed a nap, so I took one, a long and glorious one that was only spoiled by not having Seb with me. I had not been a fan of naps until we started hanging out together, but I quickly learned the error of my ways. Naps were times when you could cuddle, and sleep, and share all kinds of stupid and silly and personal stories with someone. They were like foreplay for intimacy and I missed him.

So I texted. _How’s it going?_

_Scotland is too bloody cold. Where are you?_

I was mean. _In bed, post-nap._

 _Wish *I* was there._ He'd added a sad-faced emoji. _Need one at the moment. BTW, call Danny and get a bodyguard._

I frowned. _Why? The break-in isn’t about me._

His typed reply came back a little more slowly. _Stalking is personal, darling, and the people who do it are not rational._

 _K._ I typed back, feeling a little annoyed. _I’ll do it before the end of the day._

_Thank you. Love you. Hope to be home by tonight; I could sleep for a year._

_With me?_ I smirked as I typed it.

 _No other way._ came his text. _Danny, today plz._

*** *** ***

So between getting into the lab and dealing with all the projects going on there it was nearly ten at night before I got back home. To be honest this sort of thing happened to me a lot anyway so it wasn’t unusual. Now that I had complete control of what I worked on, I tended to get caught up in it longer than intended. So I was feeling guilty as I pulled up to the Victorian and saw the lights on.

Shit. Seb was home and I hadn’t called Danny. I gritted my teeth, parked and made my way inside, hoping he wouldn’t be too annoyed. I’d _meant_ to do it. I really had, but what with work and all . . . 

“Hello? Sweetheart?” I called setting down my keys. The overnight case was on its side next to the banister newell, where he must have dropped it. I climbed the stairs slowly; if Seb was asleep I didn’t want to wake him. Made it to the landing and peeked into the master bedroom feeling a rush of love for the crumpled figure on the bed.

Sleepy baby.

Seb was on his stomach, feet hanging off the end of the bed, one boot on, one off. I turned on the bathroom light and came over. “Hey sweetheart.”

He groggily lifted his head, eyelids fluttering. “Mmantha,” he sighed. “Not . . .”

I laid a hand on his cheek, gasping a little. “Honey you’re burning _up_!” The heat radiated off him. Seriously concerned, I shifted my touch to the back of his neck which was just as hot. “Seb!”

“. . . feeling good,” he finished, and began to shiver.

Damn it. Fever, and seriously high from the feel of it.

I moved quickly to the bathroom, grabbed a washcloth and ran water over it. As I started to wring it out I heard retching; I barely got the bedside trashcan in place as Seb leaned over and quietly vomited into it.

“Shit,” I muttered fighting a sense of panic. “You need to go to the hospital. _Now_.”

He looked up at me with heat-glazed eyes and nodded as I wiped his face clean.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sebastian_

I’d started to feel a bit poorly after leaving Horrick House, but did my best to ignore it because there were other matters on my mind and in my hands. To wit: I had Auntie’s Hit book and the family papers in my keeping, and those were _much_ more important than a headache.

The nail was the key, literally. Which is why seeing it exposed like this was definitely unnerving.

Pulling it from the wall, I brought it to the vanity and pressed it into the little hole on the side of the right leg; a spot you’d have to know about to find. The bottom of the vanity top dropped down on oiled hinges to reveal the gleaming steel drawer there and in it, Auntie’s treasures. So whoever had taken the portrait hadn’t realized how close they were to something more important.

Or maybe they _did_ know and were sending a warning. I didn’t know and couldn’t tell, but I also knew I couldn’t leave the contents of the vanity there either, not with the nail exposed. I slipped the files into my shirtfront, closed the drawer, replaced the nail in the wall, and left Horrick House, feeling watched. Given how isolated the house was there on the bluff it should have been easy to see anyone, but in this age of high-powered telescopes and drones anything was possible.

Paranoia was a useful tool for a Villain and I wasn’t about to be waylaid if I could help it. The whole break-in felt like a much more personal attack on Auntie, and I wanted to talk to the Greys as soon as I could, but first I needed to get the files to safety so I drove back to the offices and put them into a battered attaché case that I shoved under my car seat. Nobody looking for important papers would think of looking there so I felt secure for the moment.

John Chu had the preliminary reports on movement around Horrick House and was still checking on the out of town arrivals at the hotels.

“Sorry—I had no idea we had such a lot of travelers coming through the area. We’re checking them against the list of names you’ve provided but nothing so far.”

“I can refine the list after I speak with Lady Montmort-Slay. Who’s been up to the House itself?”

“The usual—mailman, coal delivery, and some tourists wanting snaps of the place,” Chu told me. “We’re tracking them down since we’ve got the license plates.”

“Good. Are you tapped in to the police databases?” I asked, rubbing my forehead.

“Yes sir, but they’re not really pursuing it,” came the answer. “Not a priority.”

“I didn’t think it would be but use their leads if they get any. All right, I’m going to check with Donovan and I probably won’t be back, but keep me updated, and thank you.”

“Yes sir, you’re welcome.” 

I liked Chu, who was good and loved the hunt. He’d been one that I’d hired away from the private sector a few years ago and set up as part of BlackGuard with an eye to expanding into Scotland, and it was paying off.

I took a moment to swallow some paracetamol before I called Auntie. 

*** *** ***

Arbroath Infirmary had just released the Greys, who were still looking pretty pale to me. Auntie had employed them for years. The pair of them were in their sixties, and generally healthy in that rugged way folks up here are, but the wife—Hannah—was definitely worse for wear, leaning on Donovan.

“Mister Slay, I’m so sorry!” she told me, her expression anxious. “I don’t know how this happened. One minute we were sitting down for a cuppa and then out, like babies. Oh the shame of it!”

“No shame, my aunt and I are just glad you two are all right. Let’s get you out of here and talk, all right?”

We all piled into the car and headed back to Horrick House. Once there I had Donovan arrange for more security as I sat with the Greys at the kitchen table. I led them through some small talk to relax them, speaking about the weather and Auntie’s roses before coming around again to the break-in.

“So tell me what happened? Remember I’m not the police; I’m family. Auntie has been deathly worried about you two.”

“Miss Eglantine, always so good to us,” Joe Grey nodded. “Well sir, I finished up with the hedges just before teatime and locked up the house. We’ve had some storms of late and I wanted to make sure the windows were secure. Hannah had the tea laid out and I came in as I always do. She was just seeing off the delivery boy—"

“What delivery boy?”

“The one with the dry-cleaning. We had the front hall curtains done and they’d just come back. Didn’t you see them right there?”Hannah asked me, pointing to the neat plastic covered curtains draped on the side table.

I shook my head, which made it throb. “No, I didn’t notice them here when I checked things. So curtains. That was around five?”

“Yessir. We were talking about re-hanging them, had tea right here and then . . . I felt sleepy, so I went for a bit of a lie-down. Next thing I know it’s dawn, I’m still in my apron and Joe’s shaking me awake!”

“And _I_ woke up right at this here table, drooling like a hound,” Joe muttered, looking embarrassed. “Felt like I’d overdone it at the pub, frankly. Called Donovan when I realized the front door was open and he took us to hospital. They said we’d been dosed with sleeping pills.”

“I’m so sorry,” I told them, meaning it. “So . . . you two know Horrick House better than anyone—can you come around with me and tell me if there’s anything else that I or the police might have missed?”

The three of us walked through the entire place and I was caught between memories and my headache, but the Greys were thorough, checking everywhere. By the time we were done an hour later, they confirmed that the only missing items were the ones listed on Donovan’s sheet.

“All but the perfume; that’s still here. Shame about that portrait; your aunt was so lovely in that one. Wasn’t she Joe?”

“Aye, a true princess,” he agreed, looking a little forlorn. “So what now, Mister Slay? Are we sacked?”

“Good lord no!” I reassured them. “This wasn’t your fault! For now you’ll have two extra hands around the place and we’re probably going to set up a few more cameras closer to the house itself. Auntie and I both want you to be _safe_.”

I took my leave and arranged for a flight to London, feeling worse by the moment. Normally I’m healthy enough barring the odd cold or bout of insomnia but by the time I got on the plane I knew I was in poor shape. The worst part was knowing that I’d have to avoid Samantha until this bout of flu passed, and that added to my general malaise. I slept a bit on the flight, stumbled my way through the airport and to the car, driving with uncharacteristic slowness to the Kensal house.

Now I was feeling truly awful, but before I could rest I needed to deal with Auntie’s paperwork. The problem with Samantha’s house was that it didn’t have a secure storage unit to it, and I wandered around considering where to put the battered briefcase until by chance I found exactly the right spot.

Then I slowly, painfully climbed the stairs and let myself collapse on the bed, hoping sleep would help how terrible I felt.

*** *** ***

The next thing I remembered was Samantha . . . and throwing up.

She managed to help me downstairs; by now I was shivering hard and not really fully conscious. I knew I had a fever but still felt chilled as Samantha took me to hospital.

We got into the A & E at Hammersmith Hospital and I managed to walk in on my own with help from her.   
Samantha set me down in a chair, got my wallet and started on the paperwork while I leaned against her in the hard plastic seats of the waiting room. It was hard to keep my eyes open but I could hear everything, including her little reassurances that I was going to be all right.

I loved her so much. 

“Sebastian, what’s your blood type?”

“AB . . .” I told her weakly, feeling my gorge suddenly rise again. I blearily looked around, trying to figure out where the bathroom was, and tried to get to my feet. “I’m going to . . .”

She was up and at the counter like a shot. “Trash can! I need your trash can!” she told the receptionist and got it.  
And once again, I heaved. There wasn’t much, but I tasted blood, and suddenly we were at the head of the line. I remember being helped onto a gurney and rolled down hallways with Samantha racing next to me, holding my hand.

After that, nothing made much sense.

*** *** ***

I dreamed. _Socks and Soho and being chased by Bebe Victor’s lips. I relived finding my old camera, and looking up to see an impossibly tall mountain that I knew I had to climb. And I did, but when I looked down to see how far I’d come I was back on the ground looking up._

_I heard Danny but he wasn’t there._

_In one moment I was floating like the one piece of my parent’s yacht._

_Part of me searched for the someone. There was the someone dear and I kept looking, kept almost finding her just around this corner or over that way. Looking. So tired._  
*** *** ***

When I opened my eyes again everything was very blurry and my mouth felt like moldy cotton. I heard the beeps of monitors and saw those falsely cheerful curtains hanging around the bed. Hospital. I tried to sit up but couldn’t manage it. My head still hurt as did my eyes, but I was determined to stay awake.

One of the monitors changed tones as I moved, and I heard footsteps coming my way. “Mr. Slay?”

A nurse came around the curtain, and my pulse went up when I saw she was wearing a mask and gloves. “Y-yes,” I croaked, trying to work up some saliva.

“You’re finally awake, that _is_ good news. My name is Jane,” she told me, even though her attention was on several of the machines around me. “Are you up for a visitor?”

I nodded, wondering how long I’d been out. “What h-happened?”

“You’ve had a virus,” she told me and I could tell from the sudden twitch of her shoulders that she wouldn’t tell me any more than that. “Your visitor can only stay for ten minutes, and after that I need to take some blood, all right?”

I nodded again, looking at my arms. IV, all sorts of electrodes, a red hospital bracelet . . . under the sheets I could feel a catheter, and winced.

Low voices and then quick footsteps coming my way. I looked up to see Samantha slipping around the curtain to my side.

She was wearing different clothes, I realized.

_And a mask and gloves._

Panicking now, I blinked at Samantha, reaching blindly for her hand. “What . . . _what_ the _hell_ have I got?”


	6. Chapter 6

_Samantha_

“Shhhh,” I told him, trying to hide the strained relief in my voice. “It’s a virus, Seb. It’s called Vamino two and it’s a variant of one of the hantaviruses. The important thing is that the doctors feel they caught it in time. You need to rest, sweetheart, you’re going to be fine.”

“Hantavirus?” he blinked at me, “as in _hemorrhagic_?”

I took his hands. “Yes,” I admitted. “But we got you here in time and Doctor Tangaroa is one of the best virologists in London so I repeat: you’re going to be _fine_. A little weak but with rest, you’ll recover.”

I watched him digest this, and felt such a rush of love for Seb in that moment. He’d had a rough time for the last two days and I’d fought like fucking _hell_ to stay close; apparently being his girlfriend wasn’t quite the same as ‘family.’ If Eglantine hadn’t made it fiercely clear to the hospital that I was to be considered such, I don’t know what I would have done. Gone out of my mind, I suppose.

Still, all the waiting and praying and worrying was over now; Seb was on the mend and would be out of the ICU in a few hours if all went well. I felt my exhaustion lift a little and added, “You’re lucky it wasn’t one of the pulmonary ones.” 

I didn’t tell Seb about the long discussions I’d had with Doctor Tangaroa about the peculiarities of this strain including the unnaturally rapid onset and lack of identifiable vector. Horrick House undoubtedly had mice; we were checking that possibility right now. In the meantime I different priorities and getting him better was the top one.

“God I love you.” Seb sighed, lacing his cool fingers with mine. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days. I--”

“--Two _days_? My God, Auntie--”

“She’s fine,” I reassured him, aware that my visiting time was running out. I pressed a hand to his cheek, annoyed that the glove didn’t let me touch his skin. “ _All_ of us have been so worried about you.”

“ _I’m_ not the one being stalked,” he replied a little testily. “Mantha, Auntie’s book, it’s--”

We both heard footsteps; not only had the nurse returned, but Doctor Tangaroa was with her. For such a mountain of a man he moved lightly, shifting to the other side of Seb and looked down at him. “Well well; the sleeper awakens. I’m impressed with your constitution, sir. How do you feel?”

“Like used gravel,” Seb replied. “But thank you for treating me.”

“You’re welcome. We’re not going to tire you out Mr. Slay, but my department _is_ curious about how you picked up Vamino two. I want you to think back where you were when you breathed it in. For now though, rest. Ms López-Campbell will be permitted to stay nearby, and we need a little more blood.”

I gave his hands a squeeze, assured him I’d be back soon, and stepped out to call Eglantine.

*** *** *** 

Bringing Sebastian home three days later proved to be a drawn-out process that ended up annoying _all_ of by the end. Danny had managed to charm Nurse Jane, and Eglantine kept on top of the doctors while I worked to find a balance between doing too much and doing too little for him.

I was new at this, and I’d never done it before—taken care of someone besides myself that is. My mother had always been gentle and good with me as a girl, but once she passed away I’d learned to manage on my own. Still, I was determined to make sure Seb was going to be all right, and took all the hospital release instructions to heart.

Seb was not cooperative in the least. “I can _walk_ , I can climb _stairs_ ,” he grumbled when we finally got to my place and he saw that I’d made a bed for him on the sofa. “I’m _not_ sleeping down here!”

“You’ll get more rest,” I tried to assure him, but he turned to me, pulled me to him and kissed me; it was supposed to be forceful but I ended up supporting him as he pulled back, licking his lips. 

“I’ve just spent the better part of a week on my back in bed, _resting_. There are lots of things I need to do, want to do and _resting_ is _not_ one of them, darling.”

I gave him a patient look. “Negotiation time then. Stay down here for the day and we’ll go upstairs at night. You can work just fine on the sofa and we both know it.”

That last came out a little weakly since we had a _lot_ of personal history already on that sofa, and I was trying to ignore the memories. Sebastian however, was grinning.

“Oh yes, I remember,” he murmured, and nuzzled my neck. “I accept your proposition.”

“Work,” I re-iterated. “I’m not saying we can’t indulge later, but right now we have a few priorities.” To take the sting out of this I kissed him and held his gaze to show I meant it. I figured he’d be so tired from the first day home he’d be out before we could start anything and that was fine with me too. I was just grateful he was alive.

“All right,” he agreed suspiciously quick, settling onto the sofa with a sigh. “So I’ve had Donovan retrieve the perfume bottle from Horrick House; have you gotten to it yet?”

“Yes.” I’d found the virus in it, just as Seb had suspected. It had been an ingeniously fiendish way of infecting a person and I might have been impressed but at the moment I was too angry to admire it much. “I’ve got it secured at the lab and I’m looking into who might have worked on it but it’s not my area of expertise. I wish I could bring Tangaroa in.”

“Not at the moment,” Seb shook his head and got busy on his tablet. “The search at Horrick House will turn up the usual rodents but none of them will be carriers and from that point the case will die down as far as the officials are concerned. That’s what we want for now—just an isolated fluke. I need you to bring me Auntie’s book, please.”

“And it’s . . . ?”

“In Mr. Slowpoke’s house,” Seb murmured, tap-typing quickly. “Lure him out with something—fruit’s best—and then tip the log hutch. You’ll find the attaché in there.”

I laughed and did as he suggested. Mr. Slowpoke ended up with a plate of melon chunks and I had the attaché within a few minutes, bringing it into the living room and handing it over. “I would give anything for a video of you staggering around in that compound hiding the case,” I told Seb, snorting a little.

“Safest place here,” he assured me, smiling a little. “Anyway, this is the important item . . .” Seb held up a little journal, beautifully bound in tooled leather. It looked like a prestigious diary, and I found out a moment later that’s exactly what it was. “Is Auntie’s Hit book. The only paper record of her sanctioned assassinations, most of them via poisons. Normally this would be locked up at Horrick House but given the situation it’s safer here, and may give us a clue as to who’s after her.”

I wavered a bit. “Should we be looking at it _without_ her? I mean that seems so . . . personal.”

He looked up at me, and I could see the hard set of his mouth along with the worry in his gaze. “We do _have_ permission, and we’ll go over it again with her tomorrow, but for the moment it’s a good place to start. Here,” Seb patted the spot next to him. “You can help me skim.”

There were a lot of names. I was caught between shock and amazement at how many people Eglantine had killed over the decades. Part of me knew that this was what being a Villain was truly about, but to see it in names and numbers was painful. I liked Eglantine, loved her a little even but learning about this side of her shook me. 

A notorious name popped out at me; I looked at Seb. “I thought he died in prison.”

“He did,” Seb replied shortly. “Auntie made sure of that. And I know what you’re thinking, ‘Mantha—how can the woman you like and admire possibly be responsible for all these deaths? The answer is because she chose to. None of these murders were hasty decisions or simply a matter of payment. Auntie made it a point of honor to take on assassinations that were for an improvement in society.”

“She killed for money,” I found myself saying.

“Not always,” Sebastian countered, flipping a page. “This one—” he pointed to another name, “Husband of a friend. A friend who constantly showed up with bruises and who miscarried three times, each after being _beaten_ by her husband. That was the sort of issue Auntie could deal with and never lose a night’s sleep.”

I sighed. “But not all of them were about justice, Seb. You can’t whitewash this.”

“No, but there are reasons behind each one of them. This woman—dying of pancreatic cancer. She hired Auntie to do her in so she’d be spared the pain and her family wouldn’t have the expense of a long stay in hospital. And this one was a serial child molester who’d gotten a mistrial. He’d been Danny’s _daughter’s_ piano teacher, ‘Mantha.”

“Seb--”

“This one was chief torturer for one of the South African dictators back in the Seventies,” he continued, his voice slightly stern. “This is what being a Villain is _about_ , my love. About some of those decisions that honest society won’t or can’t make. Someone had to do these things. Someone has to take the lead.”

“I get it,” I told him in a soft voice. “I _do_. You’ve been telling me this in so many words for quite a while, but this is one of the first times I’m see the proof of it, so forgive me if it takes a while to sink in, all right? You’ve grown up _knowing_ you’d be a Villain; I’m still kind of new to the concept.”

He looked up an over at me, his handsome face slightly grave. “I’m sorry,” Seb murmured. “You’re right. I suppose I was pushing the case because . . . because I love my aunt and because to my way of thinking she’s done nothing wrong in her actions. But yes, it’s a bit of a shock coming from the outside.”

I leaned a head on his shoulder. “Yeah. Listen, I’ll make us some soup, okay? You’ve got some meds to take too.”

Seb kissed my forehead and nodded. “All right. You do know I love you and I’m grateful for all this, yes? Generally when I’m sick I just hole up for the duration on my own. I’m not used to being waited on hand and foot.”

“Well don’t get too fond of it,” I told him, rising up from the sofa, “I don’t have a maid costume.”

“We can _rectify_ that,” Seb offered hopefully. “Something very short and low-cut, with frills. I’m feeling better already at the thought.”

I laughed all the way into the kitchen.

*** *** *** 

I _thought_ he was exhausted and would fall asleep within a few minutes of our settling into bed. Seb should have; he’d been on the tablet and mobile constantly, and I’d seen him fighting off a few yawns throughout the evening. Even going up the stairs took him a while. But once I’d climbed in on my side of the bed, I felt Sebastian shift closer to me, sliding his hand up under my nightie top to cup a breast. 

“I couldn’t _bear_ not touching you,” he whispered to me. “I know you’re worried and think I’m being foolish but please let me touch you, darling.”

I slid my hand over his on my breast. “You are ninety-nine percent testosterone, you know that, right?”

“So that’s a yes?”

I snorted and rolled to face him, pulling him close to me. “You could have _died_ , Sebastian. I sat in a hospital for two days drinking shitty coffee out of my mind with worry. So yes, you sure as _hell_ may touch me because I’m going to touch _you_.”

He chuckled at that, and we slowly, tenderly re-familiarized ourselves with each other in the dark. No rush, no hurry; this was what I loved the most about being with Seb . . . his patience. I let him stroke and tease me, but eventually I shifted him to his back and slipped under the covers, kissing my way down his flat stomach. Seb protested, but I ignored that and took his shaft in my hands.

The wonderful thing about learning to make love with Sebastian was that he was so open and patient and giving. He’d shown me what gave him pleasure, explained to me how touch and stroke and kiss his cock. He was so gentle and honest that I found myself adoring the chance to please him. Sometimes being a fast learner is a good thing, and I was going to prove it. I slid my hands over his rigid shaft, teasing it a little before slipping my mouth over the slick tip.

Seb gave that wonderful slow deep moan; that sound I knew was only for me, and I felt his hands reach for my hair, stroking it. “Uhhhhnnn daaaaaaarling . . .”

I sucked. In this case it was a good thing, a happy, sensual way to make love to him without any qualms. Shortly, when his breathing grew raspy, and the hand on my hair began to flex, I sensed that Seb was close to climax. I sped up my pace slightly, and very gently cupped his heavy balls; that, I knew would do it. He groaned, arching his hips up and I swallowed each hot pulse, grateful that he was here and alive with me; that I loved him so.

When I slipped back out from under the covers he pulled me to him, kissed me. I felt his wet eyelashes brush my cheek. “Eres mi Corazón,” he rumbled, “por sienpre.”

I held him until he fell asleep, head on my chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone is reading this; if you are, I'd love to hear from you, thanks.


	7. Chapter 7

_Sebastian_

Yes I was pushing matters but given the circumstances I felt it was necessary. Whoever was out there had made an attempt on Auntie using a biological weapon and just because I happened to be the victim didn’t change the urgency of the matter. It also told us that whoever it was, they were either a genius, or wealthy enough to hire a highly trained scientist.

That didn’t narrow the field much, according to Auntie. She sat with Mantha and me at the kitchen table at Lychgate Hall, thumbing through the pages of the Hit Book. “At least two thirds of the people here never had any idea I’d killed them,” she told us. “And the remaining third may or may not have had suspicions before I finished the job. You’ll see I mentioned whether or not they had relatives, so perhaps that’s a place to start as well.”

‘Mantha spoke up, a little nervously I noted. “Are there any people that you, um, _failed_ to kill?”

Auntie gave her a considering look. “Hmmm. I _did_ have a few that I had to abort or reconsider, but on the whole, no, my dear. I did have a reputation to uphold.”

“Still, it might give us _some_ thing,” I pointed out. “The revenge angle if nothing else.”

“Revenge,” Auntie sighed. “Then it would be a long time coming, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, but it’s still possible,” I replied. “Is there any tea?”

“I’ll make it,” Samantha offered as Auntie turned her attention back to the book. I noticed she lingered over a few entries and I wasn’t sure if it was out of regret or pride.

“The green is on the second shelf,” Auntie murmured, “and the Oolong on the third. Ah, this hit I remember—first time I used curare in fact.”

I took notes; a little more slowly than I normally would have. Auntie said nothing but patted my shoulder with one bony hand. Being as we were, she and I had never been overly affectionate but the love between was genuine even if it wasn’t always directly stated.

“Eglantine, where did you _get_ this tea?” Samantha asked, breaking into our concentration. She held up a tin, frowning.

“In the mail, dear. I told you, it was surprise birthday gift,” my aunt replied. “Green’s not my preference but the company is respectable enough.”

“I’m taking it to my lab,” Samantha told us both. “Sorry, but there’s a powder mixed here in with the loose leaves, and the color’s not a match for the tea.”

“What?” Auntie rose up and I did too. We came over to look as Samantha poured a little out onto a saucer and poked it with a spoon.

“See? That grainy stuff has a crystalline structure, not an organic one,” she pointed out. “It looks as if it’s been dyed to blend in but the color’s more yellow than green. How much of this have you had?”

Auntie blinked. “A few sips I think, if that. I made cups for us when you came to visit but we didn’t get around to drinking it because we toured the garden. Afterwards when you’d left I knew they’d gone cold so I poured the cups out. I haven’t had it since.”

“Where did it come from? Think!” I told Auntie. “And when did you get in the habit of accepting surprise packages?”  
“Because it came from . . . Oh,” she went pale and looked at me. “It came from Clarinda Victor!”

“ _Bebe’s_ mother?” I asked, and my aunt nodded.

“Yes. We’ve drifted apart of late but she’s a friend, so I didn’t think anything of it. Clarinda Victor . . . Good Lord, why would she try to poison _me_?”

Samantha poured the tea and crystals back into the tin, sealed it in a plastic bag and scrubbed her hands. “While you two think about that, I’m taking this in and seeing what it is, Seb. You’ll know where I’ll be.”

She swooped over, gave me a kiss and Auntie a quick hug before flying out of the kitchen, leaving the pair of us a little stunned.

“Clarinda,” Auntie murmured, a little sadly. “How _could_ she?”

I frowned. “Did any of your hits cross over to the Victor family?”

“I . . . I don’t think so,” Auntie replied, but uncertainly. “We can check.” She made her way back to the table and sat down heavily, hands splayed across the book. “Clarinda and I go back _ages_. She never _knew_ about my vocation as far as I can remember, just the way Bebe doesn’t know.”

“Ages,” I echoed doubtfully. “Tell me about her.”

And Auntie did; about the two of them meeting in primary school in Scotland and becoming friends. About debuting together and meeting up again in London, (“We shared a flat on Cadagon Place around the mid-Sixties. _Mad_ times, people in and out at _all_ hours. Hard to store poisons with that much traffic.”) She told me about Clarinda marrying Nigel Victor and eventually having Bebe, of shopping trips and meeting up at parties. All of it boringly normal, to my way of thinking.

“So you never say, killed her father or did in her husband?”

“Nigel? He’s still around thank you very much and not a threat to anyone,” Auntie sniffed. “No, there’s nothing to it unless Clarinda’s gone mad. We _were_ close, once.”

“As in . . . close?” I asked as delicately as I could. Auntie shook her head.

“Oh no, she was only ever interested in men and anyway, I never confided my orientations to her.”

“What does Nigel do again?”

“Metalworks,” Auntie murmured. “Statuary, lamps, and high-end art pieces. He runs a few factories that produce them. Not a thriving business but steady enough I suppose.”

“Hmmm,” was all I offered, thinking hard.

*** *** *** 

I was exhausted by the time Alistair dropped me off at the Kensal house, and took a nap on the sofa, wishing I could heal faster. Doctor Tangaroa had warned me that I’d be at half-speed for a while and not to overdo things. Generally I would have shrugged off the advice, but given how weak I was feeling, I opted for the better part of valor and slept.

My mobile woke me an hour later and ‘Mantha breathlessly greeted me with, “Cyanide. Potassium ferricyanide to be exact. On its own it’s got a low toxicity, but the tea leaves were heavily coated with citric acid and I found bits of lemon peel in it. If the acidity reaches a certain level the combination of the two makes hydrogen cyanide gas, Seb.”

I swore and struggled to sit up. “So by simply making a cuppa, hot, Auntie would have died of the same stuff used in Nazi concentration camps.”

“Yes. One good inhalation of the steam and she’d be dead. But ferricyanide is not too common anymore. It _used_ to be used to correct the tints in photos and to electroplate steel—”

“ _Steel_ ,” I broke in. “Nigel Victor runs a metalworks factory, darling. The Victor family would have ample access to all sorts of chemicals. Where are you right now?”

“On my way home. Do you want me to pick up anything?”

“I suppose Phal is out of the question?”

She snorted. “ _Yes_. Milder, Seb—at least for now. Think Tikki Masala.”

I agreed grumpily and hung up. On an impulse I called Danny on the secure line and he seemed glad to hear from me.

“Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“Not you _too_ ,” I grumbled. “Listen, I need you to send someone over to keep an eye on auntie. Someone who can take her personality, and not get in the way.”

I heard Danny stifle a chuckle. “Bit of a tall order, but I’ll see who I’ve got. Why?”

I explained what Samantha had figured out, and heard Danny give a whistle of admiration. “Nasty. But Clarinda Victor . . . sorry, I’m having trouble seeing it, mate. Isn’t she the old bird who talks to the houseplants at Sir Ravi’s parties?”

“Yes,” I concurred. “For the record it does seem to be a long shot. And I’m not sure what the motive is. If it’s revenge, she’s taken her sweet time about it.”

“Could be, but yeah, bit out of the blue. Listen, do _you two_ need a shadow? Not that I don’t have faith in you, but you’re not exactly up to snuff at the moment, Seb.”

I sighed. “I know, but I’m already tapping you for Auntie as it is.”

“Eh, call it a favor,” Danny told me. “Both Sir Gareth and I would feel better for it—just until you’re on your feet again, right?”

“All right,” I agreed. “Tomorrow. And thank you, Danny.”

“Pffft, don’t go getting all soft on me _now_ ,” he teased and hung up.

*** *** ** *

Apparently I drifted off again because when I opened my eyes, it was dark outside. The lights were on in the living room so Samantha must have gotten home. I got to my feet and went looking for her, following the faint scent of Indian food to the kitchen.

She was there, barefoot, hair tied back, humming as she stirred something on the stove and the sheer domesticity made me smile. Who would have thought that a Mad Scientist could look so bewitchingly perfect?

“I’m _hungry_ ,” I told her, giving Samantha a look that showed I meant more than food. 

She glanced over at me, her smile a little tired. “Definitely on the mend, then. However, I have annoying news, my Romeo. My period started.”

“Oh. Are you . . . all right?” I asked uncertainly. I knew in theory that this could be an uncomfortable time for women, but it was a bit out of my realm of practical experience.

“No,” Samantha confessed. “I won’t lie; I’m achy and I’m definitely going to need a heating pad tonight. Sorry, it’s sort of the way it is.”

I came over and took her in my arms, kissing her temple. “Oh darling, believe me, I’m sorry you’re in pain. What can I do to help?”

She hugged me. “Eat, for one thing. Then I’m going to bed early and you should too.”

We ate. I told her about talking to Danny; she told me about analyzing the tea and together we tried to figure out the why of it all.

“I haven’t met Mrs. Victor but if she’s anything like Bebe—” Samantha sighed. 

I picked at my rice. “It bothers me,” I confessed. “Why Auntie? Why now? If she wanted revenge, you’d think she would want to BE there for the suffering. And there’s no profit in it.”

Samantha blinked at me. “If Eglantine dies, then _you_ inherit, correct? I mean you’re her only relative, right?”

I shrugged. “Well yes. But the only way the Victors would benefit from that would be--”

“--If Bebe married you,” Samantha finished slowly. “Now _that_ would be a motive. She’d swoop in, thinking you’d be emotionally vulnerable after your aunt’s death, and snap you up.”

“But I’m not interested in Bebe,” I protested. “Never _have_ been!”

“No,” Samantha nodded, “but—and this is a big but—I wouldn’t put it past her to try. You ARE a catch, Sebastian, and she’s made moves on you every time I’ve seen her. With your aunt’s money added in, that would be a heck of a motive.”

I snorted. “The _only_ way Bebe could convince me to marry her would be through some sort of blackmail . . . oh fuck.”

We looked at each other, but Samantha spoke first. “She’s setting you up. Somehow Bebe Victor is going to make it look like _you_ killed your aunt.”

I sighed and rubbed my temples. “Too weird, and too much. Let’s sleep on it and deal with this nonsense in the morning, darling.”

So we went to bed. I spooned up behind Samantha, one arm around her waist to keep the heating pad up against her tummy. It felt intimately good to be of comfort to her. 

“I know of a way you can avoid cramps for at _least_ nine months,” I whispered to her.

“Don’t tempt me,” Samantha snickered. “I’m wise to your wiles, Mr. Slay.”

“Then I shall simply redouble my efforts,” I assured her, and we both dropped off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

_Samantha_

My period, blahhhh. I try not to gripe about the realities of being a woman but it gets difficult around this time of the month. I’m generally all right for about two of three cycles, and then like the proverbial seventh wave I get the period that wipes me out, and by the feel of it, this was the one. Matthew used to bitch that I was faking sick when I’d call in to the lab but after I’d thrown up a few times around him he’d grudgingly given me the time off. It took actual vomit to get even _that_ much of a concession.

When I got up in the morning my new sheets were stained and I had to fight tears. God, what would Seb think when he saw that? He was still sleeping, curled up away from the wet spots but still. I draped a towel to blot it up and limped to the bathroom to shower and deal with the shift in flow that being upright brought. The heat helped, as did the steam. I let it pound my lower back for a while and was so caught up and I didn’t hear the bathroom door open.

Seb flicked the curtain aside and slowly climbed into the shower with me. 

I didn’t say anything, but he gave me a smile and then proceeded to shampoo my hair. _That_ was fabulous; long fingers working that lather up under the hot water. I returned the favor and by the time we’d washed off the soap and lather, the hot water had gotten tepid but I felt so much better. Seb handed me a few towels, told he he’d make the coffee and kissed me.

When I got out of the bathroom the sheets had already been stripped off the bed and Seb had sponged the mattress stain as well, which nearly made me cry. _He’d_ been the one in the hospital and yet here he was taking care of _me_. 

Downstairs he was already at the table in the sunroom, working on his tablet when I came over to him and touched his cheek. “I’m sorry about the sheets.”

He waved a hand. “Body fluids are body fluids. I suspect our sheets will suffer a good deal in the coming years. How are you feeling, love?”

“Better,” I admitted. “Much better. Thank you.” I sat and took a few sips of the coffee. “I’m going to be a bit draggy today though.”

“Perhaps staying home would be good,” he offered. “We can recuperate together and reconsider the Victor family angle of the poisoning puzzle. I’ve taken a look at the financials and Nigel isn’t doing very well. Also, Bebe has some interesting credit card charges of late including a receipt for green tea.”

“That’s one nail in the coffin,” I muttered. “Not that I’m jealous or anything but exactly how _long_ has she been making a play for you, Seb?”

He rolled his eyes. “Let’s see . . . ten years or so? She was married for a while but after he died she moved back in with her parents and started to make the social rounds again.”

I shot him a disbelieving look. “Bebe was married and her husband _died_?” 

Sebastian clued in; it was funny to see his expression go from unconcerned to wary in an instant. “Oh. We need to look into that.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “Oh yes.”

The doorbell rang; I got up to answer it, using the peephole before opening the door to a slightly familiar mountain of a man.

“Morning, Miss. I was sent by Mister Holloway,” he rumbled.

“Mister Pain?” I goggled, remembering him from the tea with my brother. 

He nodded, looking a lot less intimidating. “That’s right, although m’name’s actually Gaz. I’m supposed to look out for you and Mister Slay until . . .” he struggled a little here, “until such time as I am not needed or recalled to Mister Holloway’s employ.”

“Ah, come in then,” I told him, calling over my shoulder, “Darling, guess what Danny sent us?”

“Yes, he said he would,” Seb replied. “Have him come in.”

I led Gaz to the sunroom and looked around for something sturdy enough for him to sit on, but he declined politely. “No need, Miss. I’m on duty. Mister Slay, sir.”

“Mister Bradley, it’s good to see you again,” Seb told him, shaking his hand. “I trust you’re happier working with Mister Holloway’s organization?”

“Ever so,” Gaz agreed. “Appreciate your givin’ me the opportunity to leave Mister López-Campbell’s employ, that’s for cert.”

“Yes, I’m sure working for Matthew wasn’t a lot of fun; I should _know_ ,” I added.

“A right pain in the bum,” he agreed gravely.

Gaz Bradley must have been six foot five at the very least, and built like the front of a locomotive. He had a boxer’s face but very bright blue eyes, and wore his dishwater blonde hair in a small, neat ponytail. He turned to Seb.  
“Currently I hold a A plus rating from Mister Holloway and am armed with baton, blade, and taser. Do you have any partic’lur instructions before I get to work, sir?” he said in his gravelly voice.

“Yes,” Seb told him, and pointed to me. “This is Samantha López-Campbell and she is _the_ singular most important person in my life. Her safety will be your primary concern at _all_ times.”

“Seb!” I protested, but he shook his head.

“Mantha darling, your self-defense training is still rudimentary and now that you’re in the cadre, it’s de rigueur to have security.”

“But _I’m_ not a target.”

“Yet,” Seb countered quietly. “That can change, unfortunately.”

“Beggin’ pardon Miss, but he’s right,” Gaz murmured. “At our previous meetin’ your bruvver wanted me to in-timmy-date you by twisting your arm. I declined, as I’m strictl’y de-fence, and you was not a threat. However, he purely hates you and I would not put it past him to be waitin’ out there. Just so’s you know.”

It didn’t surprise me but it did depress me a bit. I blinked, trying to keep my composure. “Thank you for . . . letting me know.”

“S’all right, Miss. I knew what kind of a person you were when you offered me a biscuit. And I knew what kind of person your bruvver was when he wouldn’t let me take it,” Gaz murmured. To Seb he added, “I assure you Mister Slay that I will take _complete_ care of the Miss while I am here.”

“Thank you,” Seb told him. “For this week, regular hours I think. We’ll see if our needs change by next, and your weekends are your own of course.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll be making my survey of the neighborhood then,” Gaz told us and slipped out, leaving me to stare at Seb.

“You hired Matthew’s own bodyguard _away_ from him?” I realized as I spluttered my giggles.

Sebastian gave me an innocent look. “Mister Bradley’s talents were being wasted, and I think you’ll agree that your brother doesn’t deserve guarding.”

I leaned down and kissed Seb, cupping his cheeks as I did so. “Devious _and_ sexy; I like your brand of Villainy, darling!”

“Welcome to the dark side,” he murmured. “It’s good to be bad.”

*** *** ***

I got domestic for the day, doing the laundry, setting an easy stew in the crockpot and catching up on some professional journals that I’d bookmarked. Seb was still tracking down all sorts of Victor family information and scowling every time I passed him in the sunroom.

“Bebe’s husband was French, older and apparently had a heart attack according to the death certificate, however . . .”

“However?” I prompted, wondering if my idea for a combination toaster coffeemaker would have any viability.

“However he already had a known heart condition and was taking Clonadine for it. This toxicology report says he barely had traces of his medication in his bloodstream at the time.”

I considered this. “So you think she withheld his medication?”

“Or substituted a placebo so he thought he was taking it,” Seb sighed. “I need to talk to Auntie again but at the moment I desperately need a break from all this. Shall we take a walk?”

We did, over the canal bridge and into Kensal Green cemetery itself, which was actually quite pretty. England had classy cemeteries, and even though it was a little overcast, the day was nice. I kept my pace slow because I didn’t want Seb too worn out. Gaz came with us, staying behind a good fifteen feet. It was strange but a little comforting to know he was there.

“So you really _are_ okay with the idea of a baby?” I asked more out of a need to distract him than anything else.

Seb squeezed my hand. “Absolutely. I grew up hoping for a brother or sister and it never happened, obviously but it never stopped me from thinking about a family and having one.”

“Exactly how many babies have you even been around?” I snorted, amused at his delighted tone.

“A few. I’ve known Danny’s daughter Alison since she was two, and occasionally Mrs. Keene’s brings her grandson by—he’s nearly a year and a half now. So I’m not completely without exposure,” Seb assured me. 

That was more than I expected, and it impressed me. It must have shown on my face because he laughed. “Surprised?”

“A little,” I agreed. “Somehow Villainy and family don’t really go together in my mind.”

“Ah. Think _dynasty_ ,” he teased. “Legacy. Supremacy!”

“I’m thinking lunacy,” I murmured, but smiled anyway.

“What about _you_ , ‘Mantha darling?” Seb asked, his expression going serious for a moment. “It’s a huge commitment on your part, not only because you’d be the one carrying our baby for the better part of a year, but also because it’s life-changing. Excited as I am for the glorious possibility, I’m aware of how momentous this all is. And how . . . risky.”

We stopped near one of the little stone benches and sat down, looking at each other. I thought about a baby with Seb’s eyes and nose. About a son or a daughter with a quick smile. 

“It’s a big step,” I agreed, “but you know what? For a long time it’s one I never thought I’d have a chance of taking, Sebastian mi amor. Working for Matthew, I was convinced I’d be an old maid scientist married to her profession and surrounded by cats. The chance to not only have a baby, but have one with _you_ is the one I want to take.”

He took a deep breath, and both of my hands. “Momentous,” Seb repeated in a shaky voice. “And a little bit frightening. Not the having a child part,” Seb assured me quickly, “But how much I’m looking forward to it.”

A thought struck me. “What if . . . I can’t. If _we_ can’t,” I asked quietly. “It might be the case, you know.”

He chewed on that for a moment. “Ah. Well, there’s always adoption.”

I thought about that and nodded. “Yes. That’s good too.”

We sat together quietly while the wind rustled through the trees around us, holding hands and enjoying the peace.

“Of course you know if it’s a boy his name must start with an ‘S’” Seb finally said. “Family tradition.”

“Your father was--?”

“Simon. His father was Stanford, and great-grandfather was Seaford,” came the answer. “Perhaps you’d better start looking at ‘S’ names well beforehand and find something you like. And before you protest, Auntie _will_ be firm on that.”

“What about girl names?” I asked, curiously amused.

“ _Anything’s_ fair game for girls. I think ‘Eglantine’ rather proves that,” Sebastian pointed out dryly.

We headed back, going more slowly than we had coming out, and by the time we reached the house I made Seb take a nap. As I checked my email, I noted that E’thel had sent me a follow-up on the Vamino 2 question I’d sent her.

_Only two research labs in your area worked with Hantavirus,_ she’d written. _One of ‘em—Baskerville, the military lab—has been shut down for the last four years or so. The other is a lab at Ninewells Hospital. Hope that helps, girl. What’s it all about?_

I stared. Ninewells hospital was in Dundee, which was only sixteen miles from Horrick House.


	9. Chapter 9

_Sebastian_

We plotted. It took nearly three days to come up with the perfect way to flush Bebe out, and I wish I could take credit for it, but it was all Auntie’s idea from the start. I honestly believe she could have been on the stage if she hadn’t chosen Villainy, so perfectly suited to drama is she.

Auntie went to the private clinic at Greenwood and I spread the word that she was close to death and that I was staying at Lychgate Hall for the time being. I made sure to sound depressed and waited for Bebe to make her move. In the meantime, I also spent time reading the video analysis report from John Chu regarding the Horrick House break-in.

“It’s _not_ connected to the Victors,” I finally announced. “It _can’t_ be. It’s pretty clear none of the Victor family have been in contact with anyone in Scotland for ages.”

On Skype from her lab, Samantha nodded. Behind her on the screen I could see Gaz in the background. “And from this end, the level of bio-engineering expertise is far above the skills of the average layperson. Someone may have _paid_ for this engineered virus, but I’d put money on it being developed by someone connected to either the hospital or to the Infectious Diseases Office. Who did Eglantine know who might have those sorts of connections?”

“Three,” I replied. “John McMatthew; Sondra Bellington; and Rafael Del Amo. She knew McMatthew through Sir Ravi; brilliant biologist she had a brief fling with. Says it was an amicable break nearly thirty years ago. Sondra Bellington was one of my mother’s friends who was part of their social circle. Auntie says the woman had a strong crush on her and that things grew awkward so they avoided each other, and Rafael Del Amo who hired Auntie to get rid of a professional rival. When he refused to pay Auntie framed him for the murder, which was a sort of roundabout revenge. Any one of them could have arranged for the variation of Vamino; it’s the access to Horrick House that concerns me. Also, taking the picture---that’s personal.”

“Yes,” Samantha agreed. “I know you’re following up on them, but let me point out that whoever it is, if they’ve got access to one virus they may have access to others. We need to be very careful, Seb.”

The doorbell rang, and I heard Alistair dealing with yet another delivery of flowers. I looked at the screen and smiled. “I miss you. Are you coming out tonight?”

“After I take care of Mr. Slowpoke. How many arrangements came today?”

“Four. You’d think Auntie really was in hospital,” I sighed. “I’m getting nervous. What if she doesn’t show?”

“As long as Eglantine’s alive and that tin of tea is in the house, she’ll show,” Samantha predicted. “Gotta go; J-J and I are building a flexible monitor. See you tonight darling.”

I closed the connection amused at the enthusiasm in her voice. A flexible monitor—that could be handy, I thought with a smile.

For the next few hours I puttered about, doing a bit of work here, reading a novel there. Lychgate had a respectable library and behind the secret door, a very _dis_ respectful library as well. Auntie had collected books on all sorts of useful Villainy here: poison manuals, confidence and trickster guides, several biographies of terrible people and a small but eye-opening collection of erotica. I’d read a few—well most of these—and was thumbing through my favorite, wondering smuttily if my darling ‘Mantha had any particular fetishes I could cultivate and cater to when I heard a car approaching the house. 

Stepping back into the regular library I peeked through the window to see an unfamiliar car pulling up. When I saw Bebe climb out, I left the library and positioned myself at the end of the foyer, waving away Alistair, who was going for the door.

I set my expression, walked forward, and waited for the knock before opening the door. “Oh . . . Bebe,” I murmured, steeling myself against a sudden surge of fury at the sight of her.

She was her usual bony blonde self, drenched in some floral perfume and heavily made-up.

“Se-BAS-tian darling, I came as soon as I could, sweetie!” she blurted, reaching out her arms to hug me. I permitted it, stoically, and gave a little murmur. This seemed to encourage her and she pulled back to look at me, her lips still overly puffy. “So I heard that _you_ were in the hospital but I wasn’t allowed to visit, and now your aunt! You _have_ had a rough time of it _haven’t_ you sweetie?”

“It’s been . . . difficult. Won’t you come in?” I replied. 

“That would be lovely,” Bebe agreed, and I caught a flicker of cunning in her gaze. Had it always been there? I wondered. 

I led her through the house, but instead of taking her to the salon or the morning room, I made my way to the kitchen, flipping on the light. She faltered a bit behind me but I looked over my shoulder and gave her a wan smile. “I spend most of my time here. Would you like a cup of tea?”

We stepped down into the kitchen and I caught her gaze sweeping the counters. Over on the one near the samovar we’d laid out all the tea tins—including the one for the green tea. No mistake, I saw her gaze zero on it, and my pulse quickened.

“That . . . would be lovely. It’s a long drive out here. So how _is_ your aunt? Was it her heart? I _know_ about that, what with my poor Pascal.”

I shrugged. “Hard to say. The doctors believe it was something quick; Alistair found here right here on the kitchen floor in fact.” I moved to rub my eyes, and Bebe came over, running a hand along my back.

“You poor man,” she cooed. “How utterly horrible! Is she . . . on the mend?”

I could hear the hint of anxiety in her question, and I hoped the recorder above us was picking it up.

“It’s still touch and go,” I sighed. “She’s not as strong as she used to be.” A lie of course, but necessary. Auntie would snort when she heard this recording.

Bebe moved closer. “Oh Sebastian. Why don’t you let _me_ make the tea, dear.”

I nodded and sat myself down at the kitchen table, making it a point to study my hands as Bebe headed to the samovar and flicked it on. She kept up a line of chatter and I let her, working to stay quiet.

“A good cup and you’ll feel much better. If I’d known how _isolated_ you were I’d have come out sooner, Sebastian! We go back such a long way, and your aunt’s such a dear friend of Mother’s.”

I heard the clink of teacups but didn’t look her way; she kept talking. “And honestly, you _need_ someone, sweetie. It’s not good to be alone, especially in a time of crisis like this. I notice that doctor woman’s not around, well good riddance there I suppose. She wasn’t right for you, being, you know . . . a bit—”

“—A bit what?” I snapped defensively because I couldn’t help myself. My nerves were already on edge by Bebe’s chatter and disparaging remarks about Samantha were beyond the pale.

“Well you know, a bit . . . not like _us_ ,” Bebe tried to soothe over her words. The samovar hissed and I heard the cups being filled. She turned and looked at me, tried to plaster a smile on her face, her lips stretching like glossy ropes. “Let’s be honest, Sebastian, she was an outsider and really, I’m not sure why we’re _even_ talking about her. Sugar?”

As I watched her carry over the two cups, I noticed that the tin of green tea was now gone from the counter. I waited until she’d set it in front of me, and sat down before I looked Bebe directly in the eyes.

“Where’s the tea tin, Bebe?”

A flash of panic, followed by a slightly forced expression of confusion. “What? Did you want green tea sweetie?”

“No. But there _was_ a tin of it on the counter and now it’s gone. Is it in your purse? Are you planning on taking it away from the crime scene?”

Now she definitely looked unnerved. I leaned across the table and caught one of her wrists. “Bebe—” I murmured warningly.

“Sebastian you’re _scaring_ me,” she countered. “I’m sure I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about.”

“I sure you _do_ , since I didn’t mention _which_ tea tin was missing. I’m certain we can clear this up if I look in your purse.”

“What? No!” Bebe tried to pull away, but I snapped my fingers with my free hand. The chair she was in obligingly encircled her with cables; the same cables Samantha had used in her previous chair design. “What the bloody HELL?” she screeched, fighting the bonds.

I rose up and stared at her. “Oh Bebe. I should have paid more attention, truly. I’ve seen your bank account, I know how low it is, and how you spent a bit of it recently on tea--green tea. How it was mailed to my aunt a day after you visited your father’s metal works factory. How it had to be _green_ tea because the potassium cyanide would show up in the black tea.”

Her expression went from guilt to fury in an instant before she gave me a glare. “Ridiculous hearsay. Why would _I_ want to poison your aunt? She’s my mother’s best friend. True, she hasn’t always been as friendly as I’d hoped, and she’s never done much to bring US together, but . . . _really_?”

“I see a few motives,” I shrugged. “Monetary gain, petty revenge, and maybe even a bit of a _taste_ for it. Maybe all three. What I _do_ know is that you certainly picked the wrong woman to poison. Alistair?”

“Yes, Mister Slay?” He came into the kitchen and gave Bebe a scornful look.

“I’m going to empty Miss Victor’s purse on the table; please be good enough to tell me what’s there.”

I scooped up Bebe’s Sokko-Lai handbag, tipped it over and dumped the contents out. First and foremost the tea tin clattered onto the tabletop, followed by keys, a wallet and more makeup than I’d seen outside of a Spencer & Marks beauty counter.

Alistair dutifully mentioned the items by name as Bebe interjected the entire time, her outrageous squawking so annoying that I ended up stuffing a tea towel in between those rubbery lips of hers and I won’t lie—it was one of the most satisfying moments of the evening. 

Alistair returned everything to her purse but the tea tin, and I snapped my fingers again; the chair tipped back, contorting into a gurney with Bebe securely strapped to it. I looked down at her now terrified expression and smiled.

It wasn’t a nice smile.

“And so now I’m sure you’re wondering why I haven’t called the police, but really, we don’t need to involve _them_ in this at all. Alistair is going to take you to go see the proper authorities for this case and they’ll decide what to do with you. Whatever it is, I suggest you accept the judgment. Oh, by the by, I’m completely and utterly in _love_ with my doctor and Auntie is doing just _fine_.” I yanked the towel from her flabby lips.

Bebe froze and shut up for once in her life.

Alistair rolled her off through the Hall towards the garage while I fished the recording remote from my pocket and pointed it at the ceiling. I hit a series of buttons and the device sent everything to Sir Ravi, who would be receiving it on his mobile within minutes.

I was exhausted. It hadn’t been the planning or the waiting; it was simply dealing with Bebe and the ugly truth of what she’d done. Part of me was still a bit sapped from the virus as well, so I made my way out of the kitchen and to the front steps of Lychgate, watched at the van with Bebe and Alistair rolled off into the night, passing a car coming towards the house.

Samantha. Beautiful beloved woman. I went down to open the driver’s side door and help her into my arms, leaning her against the car frame.

“Hello,” I murmured. “Heard it all?”

She nodded, her hug warm around me. “Oh God what an _awful_ woman!”

I sighed. “A bitch of the first water. And that _shit_ about you . . . I came _this_ close to striking her, Samantha.” I gritted my teeth.

“It’s nothing,” she told me gently. “Certainly nothing I haven’t heard before anyway. She’s gone; forget about _it_ and _her_ my darling.”

And so Samantha came with me, making the rounds to lock up all of Lychgate Hall before I took her to bed.


	10. Chapter 10

_Samantha_

Lychgate Hall after dark could be spooky; the time I’d spent here a few months back as Eglantine’s guest had been a little disconcerting on top of everything else I’d been dealing with at the time. Now, however, it was sort of fun to have Seb taking me by the hand upstairs into the semi-darkness.

I felt that giddy sense of relief; the strain of setting a trap and springing it was gone, and all the tension had lifted, making me feel downright silly. I could tell Seb felt something similar; he smirked at me when we reached the landing.

“Would you like to see my old bedroom?” he asked me.

I nodded; why not? The thought was an oddly endearing one and I let him lead again, following him up one long hallway and taking a turn at the very end, to a smaller hall ending in a closed door. Seb laid a hand on the crystal doorknob but didn’t turn it. Instead, he spoke softly.

“When I first came to live with Auntie, she told me I could have any bedroom but hers. I took my time looking through each one, from the four down stairs to the six up here, and _this_ is the one I chose. Because you know me, I’m sure you’ll figure out why.”

He opened the door and held it wide, inviting me in. I stepped in first as Seb followed, reaching for the light switch and flicking it on.

Windows. Huge curved floor to ceiling windows that overlooked the lit gardens out back where Eglantine and I had walked. Beyond that the trees of the woodland glade stretched out in a view I knew would be all the more beautiful in daylight. I wandered closer, looking at the little lights that dotted the neat hedges down below. “Oh I think I _know_ why you took this one, yes. I would have myself if I’d known.”

“Yes,” Sebastian murmured, coming up behind me. “It’s the only room that has a view like this, and I spent many happy hours sitting here with a book and later a laptop looking out over the gardens.”

“It’s peaceful,” I agreed. Seb wrapped his arms around me from behind and for a long moment we stood there, comforted and comforting, savoring the simple pleasure of that. I loved the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne there in the semi-darkness.

And then he kissed my neck. “You make me feel . . . villainous,” came his breathy little accusation, and I grinned. This was what I’d been hoping for.

“You’re evil,” I told Sebastian. “Bringing me here in the dead of night for God knows what sort of purpose . . .”

“Oh I think you _know_ why,” he purred at me, and I felt a tingle of heat low in my stomach now. “Admit it, Doctor, you know _why_.”

I took a breath, trying not to squirm; I could feel Seb’s hands moving down my hips and stroking my thighs over my skirt and he was pressing against my ass quite firmly. “I’m not that kind of . . . scientist.”

I felt him suppressing a laugh even as he kissed me under the ear in that one spot that always drives me to distraction. “Then I shall make you _change_ your ways, Doctor. All work and no slow, hot, intense play?”

I gave a little huff to show my faux-indignation, letting my own hands pretend to pull at his. Silly, yeah, but I loved it. This sort of very private playing was totally new to me and amazingly arousing. Seb knew exactly how to push my buttons when it came to seduction and from the first time he’d growled at me I melted like butter.

“Do as I say and this may yet be a pleasant night, Doctor,” Seb pulled back and took two steps to the wingchair in the corner of the room. He settled himself in, giving me his best unnerving gaze. “Take off your clothes. Slowly; I’m going to _enjoy_ this.”

I turned to face him, letting myself look as flustered as I felt. Tossing my hair back, I undid the buttons of my sweater, fumbling them a little. Seb chuckled. “A little bothered are we, Doctor?”

“Hardly,” I lied, working hard now to keep from squirming under his gaze. The truth was that I was definitely getting warm, and being here in a new place added to that. I dropped my sweater and crossed my arms under my bust, which sort of emphasized it in the sheer pink lace brassiere. Very gratifying to see Seb cross his legs. “Happy now?”

“Really Doctor,” he pretended to chide me, just the smallest hint of a smile. “You act as if I’m forcing you. That will come _later_ , dear girl. Now the skirt, please.”

I sighed and reached for the zipper at my hip, hesitating and shooting a look through my lashes at Seb. “Must I?”

“Oh yes,” came his quick response. “I’m afraid you have no choice, and I’m not a patient man.”

I thanked my lucky stars that I was actually wearing a matched set of underwear and let the skirt drop to puddle around my heels. No stockings; it was warm enough to go without, but the rest of it was just me in my pink under-things. Seb pursed his lips and his eyes had gone dark in response, which made me blush anew.

“So there _is_ a woman under the lab coat, and a _luscious_ one at that,” he intoned. “How . . . arousing. Come. _Here_.” That last was an order, quiet and hard.

I stepped out of the skirt and moved closer to Seb, aware of my skin chilling up, of my heart rate accelerating. In the wingchair he looked like a king on his throne, cool and in command as he let his gaze slide over me.

“Seen enough?” I managed to put a little haughtiness in my voice.

“No,” Seb replied, “I think not.” He rose out of the chair, close to me, and brushed my hair back from my shoulders. Carefully he hooked his fingers under the straps of my bra and tugged them off my shoulders.

“What _else_ are you hiding, Doctor?” he purred at me. “Shall we see?”

I flushed, the heat racing through me as Seb peeled down the bra, revealing my breasts. The flick of his thumbs over my nipples made me shudder; little throbs of pleasure shooting through my body, ohh yes. He leaned forward, his mouth almost against mine and spoke. “Oh how I’m going to enjoy doing _naughty_ things to you. Try as you might to resist, you _want_ this, Doctor and we both _know_ it.”

God I loved him. Sebastian was absolutely wonderful at this and loved it as much as I did. I kissed him, giving a little moan that wasn’t acting at all. He kissed me back, tongue dipping into my mouth, curling sweetly around mine in slick seduction. I swayed, dizzy now, but Seb slid his arms around me, toying with my spine as he softened his kisses and brushed that darling goatee against my cheek.

“I . . . can’t believe you’re _doing_ this to me,” I managed, licking my lower lip. “You _are_ a Villain.”

“Of _course_ I am,” Seb reminded me as he slid his hands under the waistband of my panties to cup my ass. “And I intend to fully, deeply _corrupt_ you my darling Doctor for as long as it takes.”

Now he was a bit hoarse and given what was grinding up against me I understood why. We kissed again, more roughly this time, which left me moaning. I made an attempt to pull away but Seb was having none of it, forcing me back until we reached the foot of the bed. The back of my legs hit it, and I toppled back, a little startled but fine. Seb loomed over me, planting his hands on either side of my torso, and looked down at me, trying to be stern but smiling a little as well at my surprise.

“Trying to escape? We certainly can’t have _that_. Not with all the things I have planned for you.” I felt him press down and damn but he was hard. He chuckled.

“Oh we’ll be getting to that soon enough, but really, you’re still _too_ dressed for my taste.” Moving quickly, Seb caught the waistband of my panties and tugged them down; I gasped and dropped a hand to cover myself, blushing as he laughed at my dilemma.

God this was hotter than hell and a lot of fun. I bit back a giggle. “You can’t _mean_ this!”

He tugged my underwear off. “Don’t _lie_ to me, Doctor. You want this just as much as _I_ do!”

At this point it was probably more so, but I wasn’t going to give Seb the satisfaction of knowing that just yet, so I glared at him. “So I’m here for your pleasure, is that it? To be _watched_ like some sort of private erotic show? I’m a _scientist_ , not a . . . a . . .” Words failed me; I wasn’t sure _what_ I was going for, but Seb had no problem with it.

“Oh what I _perfect_ suggestion, Doctor. I think that’s precisely what the moment calls for,” Seb drawled out, smirking. “Yes, _do_ touch yourself. I’d be _fascinated_ to see if you even can, being as prim as you _claim_ you are.”

Now I’d done it. I held his gaze and lifted my chin. “I can love myself better than _you_ ever could!” 

Now that I’d said it, I blushed, but from the hungry look in Seb’s eyes I knew I’d have to prove myself, so I took a breath and gently ran my hand over my curls, stroking gently before shifting my legs apart slightly. Seb’s gaze was riveted and I could tell he was breathing a bit harder, which in turn made me wriggle my hips. A part of me couldn’t believe I was doing this so openly—something I’d only ever done in private—but I was the one who’d put myself in this situation.

So I touched myself.

And yes, it was a turn-on. Not only did I know exactly how to do it, it turned up the heat big-time to have Seb _watching_ me. I let myself sigh and moan a little, finding myself quite slick, and before I realized it, Seb had brought his face down close enough to _kiss_ around my moving fingers. “Don’t. Stop,” he ordered me before dragging his tongue all around the ooh-so-sensitive tip of my clitoris, licking in tandem with the slick rub of my own fingers. 

I wasn’t going to make it, no, not with THAT sensual tease, and my hips started to rock. Seb slid one hand up to cup one of my breasts, pinching the hard nipple there as I began to come, rolling my head from side to side as the sweeeeet heat rolled through me. God I’d never felt so wanton and sexy. I cried out as I came, my thighs tensing around his shoulders as I did so.

Bliss, I lay there with Seb’s cheek resting on the inside of my thigh, feeling wonderfully woozy for a few moments. I don’t know how I’d ended up with such a generous lover but I was damned grateful for it.

“I _want_ you,” Seb growled, and I heard the heat in his voice. “And by God I’m going to _have_ you, Doctor.”

I managed to lift my head. “I’m sure you do,” came my breathless taunt. “Do your worst.”

He rose up again, wrestling with his straining fly and shoving down his slacks as I propped myself up on my elbows, still pleasantly savoring my afterglow. I reached up to help pull his sweater off, marveling at the heat coming off his chest. “Evil man,” I murmured.

“You’ll _pay_ for that,” Seb promised, and stretched out on me as I spread my thighs for him. “Dearly.”

I slipped my hand around the ridged heft of his cock, caressing it even as I helped guide him. “This was your devious plan all along, wasn’t it?” I murmured against his cheek. “To take me without barriers, knowing I _couldn’t_ resist.”

Seb hesitated, and I took pity on him; he was so hard and so tense. “Well I’m prepared to meet my fate under you, naked like this.”

“Just for _that_ . . .” Seb drove himself slowly into me, making us both moan. 

I clutched him, lightly raking those long muscles down his back; he began deliberate thrusts, drawing each one out and driving me slightly mad. I wrapped my legs around his hips and tried to increase the pace but he laughed. Seb nipped my mouth and cheeks, growling as he drove himself into me.

It wasn’t fair; I felt the sensual tension build again between my thighs and whimpered as Seb increased his pace, driving harder now, the bed under us creaking with every stroke. “Oh you _like_ this of course you do,” he panted, “ _Come_ for me Doctor, you know you _will_ , do it my pretty girl and give innnnn . . .” He groaned.

So hard; I clung to him this second orgasm softer but just as meltingly sweet and it set Seb off too; I felt him pulsing deep within me, hot and wet and seemingly endless.

We lay together, still entwined, damp and sticky but even for all that, I felt such joy that I couldn’t say anything so I kissed Seb’s face instead, hoping it would show him what I felt.

There was little chance I’d get pregnant this time; I’d only finished my period a few days earlier and I’m sure Seb knew that as well, but as practice goes, it was lovely.

“Your great big evil _definitely_ triumphed over my good,” I finally sighed. " _This_ time.

He laughed and pulled me closer, holding me until we both fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

_Sebastian_

It was a strange and wonderful sensation to wake up in my childhood bed with my beloved next to me. For so many years I’d slept alone here, wondering if I would _ever_ find someone to share my life with. Not that I was maudlin but everyone goes through a time when they hope for love, even we males.

Samantha was still sleeping, and I studied her, smiling at her tousled hair and slow light breathing. In repose she always looked younger to me, and the sweep of her eyelashes against her upper cheeks was a marvel of dark fringe. Clearly I had exhausted her, and my smile shifted to a broad grin because it _had_ been a night and then some, truly.

Who would have thought that a dedicated scientist and bonafide genius could be so sweetly wicked? How did I end up so genuinely lucky?

Both mysteries but I was happy to live with them. At the moment I the spent time simply looking at ‘Mantha sleeping in my dress shirt and feeling content.

“You are beautiful and sexy and fun,” I whispered to her, pleased to see that while her eyes didn’t open, she did smile. “I love you.”

“Mmmmmm, and I _you_ , querido. What time is it?”

“Nearly half past six I think, and regrettably, I _do_ have to work today,” I admitted with a sigh. “But you can sleep in if you’d like.”

“No, I should get back to the lab myself,” ‘Mantha opened her lovely eyes and blinked a little. “We’re trying to refine Insta-Drunk but it’s hard to gauge with guinea pigs.”

“Insta-Drunk?”

“A chemical that mimics full intoxication. Don’t know what it would be useful for but it’s kind of amusing to watch them stagger around. I’ve also been trying to refine Insta-Sleep but that one’s still unreliable. A subject is either out for five minutes or two days, no in between,” she explained. “I keep laughing every time one of the white rats falls asleep while running on the wheel. I wish I had some human volunteers so I could get more accurate data, but that’s not likely to happen.”

“Oh I don’t know . . . with the right incentive I might be able to arrange some . . . warm bodies,” I told her thoughtfully. And I _could_ of course—there were minions who would sign up for monetary incentives and others who would do it as penance. Something to put on my ‘to do’ list certainly.

“Only _volunteers,_ ” ‘Mantha warned me, stretching and making the dress shirt gap open in an enticing way. “I may be Mad but I’m clinging to my ethics. So this is your room in the daylight. Nice posters.”

I shrugged. A few maps of fantasy worlds, a pair of ancient rugby team banners and a conspicuously bare spot across the room that had once held my diplomas. Samantha turned to look at me. “What about the pin-ups? No supermodels in bikinis? Matthew had his closet door covered in them, all blondes with long legs and little asses.”

I snickered. “Do you honestly think Auntie would permit such a thing?”

‘Mantha laughed. “I suppose not. I’m sure you had to be extremely _creative_ in hiding your porn.”

“Porn? _Me_?” I did my best to scoff, but a part of me felt slightly alarmed. 

She rose up and straddled me, taking my wrists and pinning them down to the mattress. This I didn’t expect, nor the sudden flare of lust in my boxers as ‘Mantha mock-glared down into my face. “You have a dick; therefore you have access to porn. I may not know much about men, but I _do_ know that, Sebastian Simon Slay.”

“I refuse to admit anything,” I bluffed. “I’m innocent.”

“Ha!” she laughed rubbing her nose against mine. “Innocent and Villain do NOT go together. Where is it? Under the mattress? Back of the sock drawer?”

I must have flinched; she rolled away and darted over to the dresser before I could stop her. “Mantha!”

She was quick; I was barely on my feet before she thrust a tattered magazine into the air triumphantly.”I knew it! The truth is out! Let’s see what you—hey!”

I grabbed the ancient thing out of her hands, holding it high. “Before you lay eyes on this shameful rag, I feel you must know a few things my darling. First of all this dates back nearly _twenty years_ ago, when my hormones were threatening to overwhelm me with very little relief in sight. Secondly, I traded away a mint-condition die-cast Corgi model of Bond’s Aston-Martin from Goldfinger for this, so be . . . forgiving.”

She was looking at me with bright eyes, trying hard not to laugh. “Oh the sacrifice,” Mantha murmured, making me blush. “Give.”

Reluctantly I handed it to her, aware that both of us were standing there semi- naked with my ancient porn—not a situation I had ever imagined in ANY scenario.

Mantha took it back to the bed and flopped down on her stomach, staring at the cover. “Oh God— _Bouncy Bints_? There really is a magazine called _Bouncy Bints_?”

“Not anymore,” I sighed. “A lot of the cheaper ones came and went, not that I know _anything_ about that.”

“Damn, that is one _massive_ chest,” she observed. “Has to be at least a G cup.”

I decided the best defense was common sense and leaned over her. “Mantha, all of these models are probably grannies now.”

“Good for them,” she beamed and opened the magazine, giggling. “So you liked them padded even back then; I can _see_ how this reading material appealed to teenaged you.”

“I was desperate but picky, all right?” came my defensive grumble. “Every man to his own tastes.”

“And yours seems to be consistent, I’ll give you that,” ‘Mantha giggled, flicking through. “My, some of these pages are a bit . . . wrinkled.”

“Now you’re just being cruel,” I sighed. “YOU try being a thirteen year old skinny, spotty boy with more testosterone than common sense! This is all ancient history and anyway, my aunt has her _own_ collection of erotica so it’s not as if I’m the only one in this house, all right?”

Samantha looked over her shoulder at me, startled and amused. “What?”

So of _course_ I had to show her the disrespectable library. To be fair we dressed first, and I managed to collect and bin the magazine on our way downstairs, hoping Alistair didn’t notice it amid all the other rubbish.

That man had already put up with a _lot_ from me over my teenaged years.

The respectable library she knew, but I showed her the secret door, and once in the tiny room, waved a hand at one wall.   
“There you go; smut. Most of it literary; one reason I resorted to trade for visuals.”

“A picture is worth a thousand words?” She laughed, and I joined in because yes, it was true.

“For a teenaged boy, yes.”

She moved forward to read some of the titles, snickering a little. “Wow, not exactly the straight and narrow here: Caning for Beginners; Jane’s Punishments; The Lusts of a Subaltern; My Harem Girl. Quite a collection. I’m not sure I’ll be able to look your aunt straight in the eyes again.”

“Keep in mind a lot the collection was here before she became a Villain,” I pointed out, slightly distracted the way ‘Mantha was licking her lower lip. “Much of it belonged to earlier generations of Slays.”

“Your family seems to be endowed with _excessive_ libido,” she agreed. “All boiling down to _you_.”

“Sex is a fundamental drive,” I argued. “And may I point out that for a recently corrupted virgin you’re pretty _libidinous_ yourself, my darling. See anything you like?” I asked hopefully.

She pulled out a book and tried to look nonchalant. “Maaaaybe. Depends on how much I can get away with around you.”

“Damned near anything,” came my honest reply as I took her hand and kissed it. “What have you got there?”

She held up the book, looking very pink in the face. I looked at it, looked at her, and fought not to grin. “Oh _really_?”

“In all the years working for my brother, I never really felt in charge,” ‘Mantha said quietly. “Never got to be the one calling the shots or giving orders. Now that I have my own lab and I _am_ . . . I kinda like it, Seb. Like it a LOT. Is that going to be . . . all right?”

I came closer and slipped my arms around her. “On all the years of working on my own, _I_ was _always_ in charge,” I pointed out. “Making every decision without anyone else there to take the burden off of me. Now that I have someone who might enjoy telling me what to do . . . yes, that’s going to be quite nice.”

She gave me a serious look, all dark eyes and curls, beautiful mouth slightly pursed. “Oh Seb, I don’t know what I ever did to deserve someone like you.”

I blinked, moved more than I realized at her words. “Nor I you. Fate is being very good to us at the moment. But for now, I’m running late, and we each have places to be, love. Bring the book,” I kissed her, “and I shall quiz you when I get home tonight.”

“We’ll see who quizzes _who_ ,” ‘Mantha warned me with a smile.

*** *** *** 

I made my way to Sir Gareth’s country house, feeling . . . concerned, mostly because of what was about to happen to Bebe Victor, who was to be brought up on charges from the cadre. Neither Auntie nor I would be permitted to be a part of it but we would be observing it. Sir Gareth would oversee the tribunal and hand out the decision—not something he liked to do. 

We’d only had a few tribunals, mostly for Villains who had tried to betray their cadres or others who had crossed the line in terms of violence or other vile acts. If the general public thinks the _police_ are hard on rapists, serial killers and child molesters, then it’s probably best they don’t know about what happens to the ones that never make the papers. _We_ take care of them—efficiently, quickly, and without regret for the most part.

Once I arrived I made my way down to the inner sanctum to the stone room with the stone desk. This was a different place from Samantha’s interview— _this_ chamber was strictly for the darker decisions we as a cadre must make. Auntie was there in one of the carved wooden chairs behind Sir Gareth, and she waved me over to sit by her, which I did.

“You look very alive for a dead woman,” I murmured as I sat.

“Yes, well the secret to life is _not_ dying,” she replied. “You look a bit haggard; _up_ much of the night, were you?” This time Auntie smiled.

I harrumphed, not daring to admit anything, which was as good as; she patted my knee.

Sir Gareth called everyone to order, everyone being Danny, Ali, Simon St. Styx, Denton, and himself to break any tie votes on the sentence. Sir Gareth called for Bebe to be brought in and she was led in by Alistair.

No chair, no manacles. I thought she might be frightened but instead she looked haughty, and that bothered me. By rights Bebe should be terrified but instead she merely looked . . . inconvenienced.

“Bebe Victor, you stand before the London Cadre of Villains, accused to trying to poison Lady Eglantine Montmort-Slay with cyanide in her tea. There is enough evidence against you to confirm the accusation, so there will be no plea. What is your justification for this attempted murder?” Sir Gareth asked quietly. I knew this pained him; he’d known the Victors socially for years as well.

“Why should _you_ care? Why should _any_ of you sodding lot care?” Bebe snapped. “With your country houses and yachts and racehorses? Silver spoons in all your mouths and your high-handed attitudes! Lady Eglantine has money, a _lot_ of it. Money she doesn’t need, money _I_ could use. And she’s a bitch on top of that, always so condescending to me. And have you _seen_ the way she’s treats my mother? Little verbal pats on the head like _she’s_ the queen and we’re all just corgis? So I thought ‘why not make her drop dead and _get_ some of that money through her poofy nephew? I could have twisted ‘Bastian around my finger if I tried, and if not, well maybe I could make it look like he’d done his aunt in. _He’d_ pay me to keep quiet, even if it wasn’t true and at the very least _she’d_ be _dust_ in an alabaster urn on some shelf!”

I took Auntie’s hand in mine; it was cool but she squeezed my fingers in return.

“Enough,” Sir Gareth growled quietly and Bebe shut up, still looking defiant. “So this was for monetary gain and personal revenge.”

Bebe glared at him, but he kept his expression mild and looked around the table. “Gentlemen?”

“What are the options?” St. Styx wanted to know, looking bored.

“Banishment or house arrest; she didn’t _succeed_ in the murder,” Sir Gareth replied.

“No black pill option?” St. Styx asked impatiently. “I would have thought that would have been on the table, given the victim involved.”

Sir Gareth sighed. “She has refused the option.”

“Too bloody right!” Bebe broke in. “I’m not killing _myself_ to please you lot!”

Everyone at the table ignored her; I saw Alistair take a step closer to Bebe and it dawned on me that although he was only a few years younger than Auntie he still had a lot of strength. Bebe closed her mouth again.

“Banishment,” St. Styx muttered. Sir Gareth looked around the table at the others. Danny looked bleak but nodded, as did Ali and Denton.

“Banishment it is. Bebe Victor, you are banished from England for the rest of your natural life . . . however long _or short_ , that might be.”

She laughed. “Fine! Banishment. I knew you cowards wouldn’t have the bollocks to do anything to me! And you call yourselves Villains!”

I sighed. Auntie rose up, moving around Sir Gareth and looking at the assembled group. “Thank you gentlemen for your decision. I appreciate it.” Turning to Bebe she gave one of the gentlest, coldest smiles I’d ever seen. “Come dear, it’s time to go.”

Bebe looked confused. “What?”

“Why yes dear, didn’t you realize? _I’m_ the one who gets to take you to your . . . banishment. I’m to make sure you Don’t. Come. Back.”

And that was when the truth dawned in her eyes. Alistair cuffed her; she struggled but it was useless. He picked her up and followed Auntie out of the stone room, Bebe’s whimpers and cries echoing off the walls.

Slowly everyone else stepped out, and finally it was just me and Sir Gareth. He rubbed his eyes and looked at me, giving a deep sigh. “I do so _hate_ it when it’s personal. We’ll make sure the Victors are . . . compensated for their loss.”

I rested a hand on his shoulder and kept it there all the way up the long stone steps up to the house.


	12. Chapter 12

_Samantha_

At work I threw myself into the three formulas that had been on my mind for a while. The Insta-Drunk and Insta-Sleep were good, but the Insta-Cheer might actually be marketed. A combination of mood-enhancer and non-addictive tranquilizer, it might be a great little lift for anyone needing a better mood for a while. I knew I was on the right track when all the Guinea pigs kept cooing and cuddling on me.

Sometimes bio- chemistry is fun.

Gaz was on duty and it was funny to watch J-J try to figure out 1) why I had a bodyguard and 2) how to talk to him. To his credit Gaz was pretty unflappable, and was more than willing to lend muscle around the lab so that was kind of nice as well. J-J appreciated it too, I think.

At lunch I locked myself into my office and started reading the book I’d, um, borrowed from Eglantine’s library. It had been privately published with no date on the verso, and was inscribed in the front in a flowing hand: _To my beloved S: yours forever, L._ The dedication could have been written by any number of Slays at that point. I tried to remember if Seb had ever told me his mother’s name and couldn’t—it would have been truly awkward if this had been a book his parents had shared.

Putting all that aside, I started to read. And get a bit hot under the collar in fact, because the title of this particular book was Imperium et Voluptatem or in English, Control and Pleasure. Yeah, I was reading one of the instructional classics of S&M because I sort of . . . wanted to.

Not _sort_ of, if I was being honest. When I told Seb I wanted control I meant it, and was realizing it the more I was with him. He—this man I loved—was so good to me, and for me. He let me make choices and was perfectly happy to go with whatever I wanted. And it was so damned intoxicating!

Practically addictive. I mean I loved the playacting; that was a lot of intimate fun, and the straight out lovemaking was pretty breathtaking too, but this . . . permission, this freedom to maybe go a little bit further had me enthralled. I’d _never_ had this level of trust with anyone.

So it was also a little scary.

Still, I knew how to study and how to process information so I dutifully took notes and did some evaluating. Sounds clinical but it helped clarify my desires a bit more and give me a little courage. Maybe I’d chicken out, but at least I’d have some idea of what it was all about.

In the meantime I was still puzzling over who had managed to mutate a hantavirus and stick it in an atomizer perfume bottle. Seb was compiling information on each of the suspects since that was his forte, but I knew I could probably find as much looking at the materials involved.

I lucked into a possible connection when I saw the last name Del Amo listed as a co-signer on some of the invoices for hazardous material supplies, but that was three years earlier. Hantavirus research was fairly specialized, with limited supplies only available from Colorado in the US. I’d seen the name down on the delivery receipts for samples, but it didn’t show up on any other of the paperwork I could find associated with the hospital, so I sent Seb a note to check and see if the Del Amo had been terminated. A man with skills enough to work at Ninewells could probably work at any clinic and was probably close by. It looked to me as if the research line had petered out, and I couldn’t tell if it was because they had made no progress, or if the funding got cut. Both were likely.

At this point, I told Gaz that we needed to shop before we headed home, and he was agreeable to that. I learned that having a large and serious looking man with me did a lot to keep my time in line short, and it was nice to have someone get things off the high shelves for me.

Gaz told me a little about himself; three sisters, no parents, and an upbringing that combined ‘colorful’ and ‘bloody’ in equal amounts. I appreciated that he’d turned his life around before he’d gotten into any serious trouble with the law, and that he liked protecting people.

“Not everyone’s lucky enough to have family to watch over ‘em,” he told me in that gravel voice of his. “And for them that needs me, it’s very much a win-win, Miss Sam.” 

We’d agreed on ‘Miss Sam’ as the easiest form of address, and I was touched by his manners, telling him so.

“All comes down to respect, which is one of the things this world needs _more_ of to my way of thinkin’. I respect you and the Sir because you’re not only smart as whips, but you both treat people well. That’s a simple thing but important.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “It is. I know what it’s like to be treated . . . . poorly.”

He nodded and carried the groceries out to the car before getting in the driver’s side and taking us home. Once there Gaz was halfway through the kitchen with the bags when the floorboards gave out with a tremendous cracking sound and he fell through them up to his waist. I gave a little scream and moved to help him, but Gaz was able to elbow his way up from the hole, looking embarrassed. “Ooof, so sorry about that Miss Sam! Haven’t had anything like that happen in ages!”

“Are you hurt?” I wanted to know. “That’s what matters right now!”

"I'm fine, Miss," he assured me and crawled across the creaking boards until he reached me at the doorway of the kitchen. I helped him up and brushed him off.

“I didn’t _know_ we had a basement,” I announced. “The realtor never said anything or showed us one.”

“Ah. Do you have an electric torch, Miss?”

I found a flashlight, and cautiously Gaz leaned over, shining the beam down the hole he’d made. “Looks as if it’s been closed up for ages. I think we ought to start looking for a door somewhere abouts, Miss.”

It took us over forty minutes but eventually we found an outline that had been wallpapered over on the wall near the back door. Gaz popped open an enormous switchblade and cut around the edges while I phoned Seb to let him know. Certainly I didn’t want him stepping into and _through_ the kitchen floor.

“Wait for me,” Seb responded. “I know Gaz is there but I’m nearly home now and there’s safety in numbers. And I’m curious of course.”

“Of course,” I agreed. So I unpacked the bags and sent Gaz to buy a cooler and ice to keep the cold goods as we waited. It didn’t take too long and within a short while Seb was home, just as eager to take a look in the basement as the rest of us.

It took some effort to pry the door open because there was no knob, simply a papered over hole where it had been. Seb was able to work the latch and with Gaz’ help they managed to pull it open amid some horrible squealing from the hinges. I passed everyone flashlights and we shone them down what looked to be concrete steps.

“Let’s let it air a bit,” Seb suggested, “and then Gaz and I will go first.”

Sensible, so we waited for another ten minutes before the three of us made our descent down the narrow stairs. It was colder and much danker down here; I could tell we were close to the creek just from the smell alone.

“Fairly large space,” Seb murmured, swinging his beam around to the walls, which were stone and wood beams. “What’s that?”  
Several crates were piled up in a corner, and near them I saw what looked like an ancient upright piano—all ornately carved wood with candleholders built into the front of it. Seb made a little sound of surprise. “Oh my.”

“That’s downright pretty,” Gaz intoned. He moved along one wall while Seb moved to the other. There were wooden file cabinets, a beautiful secretariat desk, and what looked to be a fancy vanity table too, complete with dusty, cobweb covered mirror.

“Well, looks like someone stored their household goods down here,” Seb murmured. “Nice pieces; I’m sure we could get them restored if you like them, darling.”

“They’re pretty, but are they ours? I mean, wouldn’t they belong to the previous owner?”

“He’s dead, and you own the property; they’re yours now,” Seb reminded me. “So . . . we’ll call the carpenters and assessors in the morning and settle for dinner out for tonight. Gaz, I do hope you’ll be all right.”

“Fine, sir,” he replied, still a little embarrassed, I think.

“I’m actually grateful that _you_ were the one that the floorboards failed for; you’re stronger and more prepared for this sort of unexpected event than we are.”

I know that made Gaz feel better, and when we dismissed him for the night he was in a better mood. I was getting to like our bodyguard and told Seb so as we sat across from each other at Luigi’s Kitchen later than night, finishing up our dinner.

“He’s good,” Seb agreed, “definitely has a protective instinct in him. So how was your day, other than losing the kitchen floor?”

So I told him about the possibility of Del Amo being our Hantavirus suspect, and about Insta-Cheer as well. He listened to me rattle on, chin in hand, smiling fondly at me until I caught my breath and ended with, “. . . and why are you staring at me like that?”

“Your _passion_ ,” Seb murmured. “I love the way you care so deeply about what you do, about how it energizes you. It’s part of what makes you so . . . beautiful, my darling.”

I felt my face go red, and looked down. “Yes, well, you _listen_ to me. It’s been a long time since anyone did, so I tend to get carried away.”

He reached for my hand across the table and gave it a little squeeze. “ _I_ think,” Seb told me, “that we were two lonely people who found our better natures in each other. We are better together than apart—at least I know _I_ am when I’m with you.”

“You’re getting very mushy,” I warned him with a crooked grin, “but for the record I think you may be right.” To change the subject, I added, “I um, read today too.”

“Oh _did_ you now?” His grin flashed out. “Do tell. What did you learn?”

“That _other_ Slays have read that book, for one thing,” I replied, feeling pink in the face. “There was a dedication in the front.”

“The very nature of Villainy lends itself to a certain degree of experimentation,” Seb assured me. “We are bold and curious on the whole.”

“I suppose. In any case I read through the first three chapters and it speaks a lot about trust, and communication,” I sighed. “Very basic information there, but I took notes just the same.”

“Because of _course_ you did,” Seb laughed. “Tell me darling, would you think less of me if I admitted that every now and then I want you to torment me however you wish for pleasure?”

If my face had been warm before, it was flaming now; I looked at him. “Seb!”

“But it’s true,” his voice was in that soft purr again, low and compelling. “That passion in you that I love so much— _that’s_ what I fantasize about, having it used against me, on me. Being your plaything or test subject or . . . prisoner. Is that too much, ‘Mantha?”

“I . . .” My brain was on overload but my body, ooh, my body was responding to this big-time. I fought a need to wriggle and took a deep breath. “It’s not too much,” I tried to sound calm, “but I _can_ be bossy you know. Very demanding.”

“Oh I know,” Seb nodded, and I couldn’t get over how bright his eyes were. “Not _all_ the time of course, but every now and then when we’re both . . . in the right mood, it could be _very_ . . . alluring, my darling.”

“It could be,” I confessed, “yes. But I don’t know _how_ , yet, and I wouldn’t want to truly hurt you.”

“Well like everything else we’ve done and talked about,” Seb reminded me, “We’ll take it slow. No rush, my darling, no hurry. Food for thought.”

And I _did_ think about it; couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it all through the rest of the car ride home and as we stepped into the house.


	13. Chapter 13

_Sebastian_

So we didn’t say anything more about it, but the minute we stepped through the doors of the house Samantha pounced. She wanted me then and there, and I’m not sure where this hard strange need came from, but I didn’t fight it and neither did she.  
I let her kiss me roughly, pull me upstairs and undress me without a word, watching her and smiling the whole time. Under it all I was a bit wary of course; ‘Mantha could be strong and I still wasn’t completely recovered from my bout of virus. Still, when she pushed me down on the mattress and ran her hands up my bare chest, palms warm, I gave a shiver of pleasure.

“Darling . . .” I murmured in a soothing tone.

“Shhhhhh,” ‘Mantha ordered. “Just . . . let me _do_ this, Sebastian, please. I _need_ to.”

There was nothing I could say to that; I nodded and waited. It was rather sensual to lie there in the semi-darkness and have her look at me; a reverse of the night before I suppose. ‘Mantha’s expression was fiercely beautiful; that little forelock of hers dangled down temptingly and I loved the heat in her gaze.

“You are . . . a _gorgeous_ piece of work,” she murmured, moving to straddle my knees and rub her hands down my stomach, playing with the little trail of hair there. It was a gentle touch, light and warm; I felt myself stiffen at the sensuality of it. “Lean and muscled and compact,” ‘Mantha continued. “And all this is hidden under your shirts and sweaters, my love. Sometimes I’m glad about that because I’m selfish and don’t want to share you with anyone. But sometimes I wish other people could see just how beautiful a man you are.”

I wanted to object but thought better of it when she gave a shake of her head. “No,” she told me, “You _are_. Every time I look at you or touch you, I remember what it’s like when we’re making love and I can’t believe how lucky I am that you’re . . . mine.”

That was enough to send a surge of desire through me and I groaned a little, feeling my prick rise. Her hands were on my hips now, nails lightly raking my skin. Intoxicating to lie under her and have her looking at me the way she was. I very much wanted to pull her down onto me but because this was _her_ party at the moment I contented myself to stay still and savor the sensations.

“Mine,” ‘Mantha repeated as if she still was trying to believe the idea. I nodded. She bent forward and took one of my nipples in her teeth, biting down ever so slightly and the pleasurable shock of that made me groan helplessly. I’d never been as aware of my own body as I was around her. I flushed hotly and tried to reach for her but lifting her head she caught my wrists.

And pinned them down firmly above my head.

Ohhh the shudder that ran through me! She stared down into my face, daring me to struggle; to put up resistance but I gave a little sigh, absolutely thrilled to surrender. ‘Mantha gave a satisfied laugh.

“Good,” she whispered to me. “Stay put.”

I could do that, certainly. I watched her roll away from me and reach into the nightstand drawer, and then shoot me an amused look. “How much do you like your green striped tie?”

“It’s not special,” I replied, having a sudden suspicion confirmed as she clambered back on the bed and proceeded to bind my wrists together over my head with it. Not too tightly; I could see her looking a little worried, which was adorable.

“So now you’re mine,” she repeated a little uncertainly.

“Do to me what you will,” I told her reassuringly. Certainly my whole focus was on her, on what she might do and I hoped would do to me. My ‘Mantha was a powerful woman; I’d known that since the moment I’d met her, and now it was becoming all the more real for me through these hazy layers of lust and admiration. 

And she did. I had a vague idea she might tickle me or run her nails over me, actions she’d done in play before that always made me respond, but no my goddess was cleverer than that. As I watched, she took off her beaded bracelet, waving it under my nose. “Ceramic,” ‘Mantha told me. “Smooth, on an elastic cord. And when I add a little glide on it . . .” she oiled it up with lubricant and then slid it around my shaft, twisting a section of the stretched cord with her fingers to make it tighter.

Fiendishly, she rolled the loop up, and the caress of those beads around the circumference of my cock had me arching my hips up, gasping as the pleasure surged through me. When the ring of beads was snug just under the head of my cock, ‘Mantha slowly rolled it down again and I writhed. Uuup, dooown, uuup, dooown; each direction made me curse and rock, sweat building on my temples. I had no idea how long this went on but it was the most wonderful erotic frustration I’d ever felt. Suddenly the tie around my wrists was too tight, and the strokes on my prick too slow; my hips moved with every roll of those infuriating beads. She watched me the entire time, those dark eyes drinking in my sweet torment as I struggled.

And then she stopped, beads low on my prick, and bent closer, slipping her hot mouth over the head. I moaned, feeling her tongue slide all around me. “My _God_ you’re evil!” I hissed at her, trying to push myself deeper against her flickering tongue.

She lifted her head, tossed her hair back and smiled at me. “Yes,” she agreed, and rolled the beads up once more, slipping them off my prick and tossing them aside. “Sebastian darling, I _am_.”

“I want you,” I growled at her. “I want you right _now_.”

‘Mantha laughed. “I can see that. I could deal with your prick by hand or mouth of course, but being evil and pretty turned on right now, I think it might be best to just have my nasty way with you. Would you like that?”

“YES,” I assured her, gritting my teeth. I hadn’t expected this intensity, this raw sense of desire for her that was beyond respect or affection. I wanted the weight of her on me, her animal heat blending with mine.

I wanted to fill her, and claim her as mine.

“Yes what?” came her question and I fought the urge to snap back.

_She_ was in charge; _she_ was to be pleased. 

“Yes pleease my love,” I murmured with soft desperation.

That seemed to make ‘Mantha happy; she slithered up the length of my body, pulling up her skirt and tugging aside her panties. The fact that she was still fully dressed added yet more sensuality to the moment. She hesitated as she gripped my prick, catching my gaze.

“It’s still within the safe period,” she told me, “But we can’t keep doing this without risk, darling. Sooner or later you _are_ going to fill me with a baby, we know that.”

I throbbed against her fingers. “Take me,” I rasped, “before I _die_ here.”

And she did, guiding my urgent prick into her and rocking as I drove up into her. Ah the pleasure! ‘Mantha leaned forward, hands pinning my tied wrists down and we joined in deep strong thrusts, finding that perfect rhythm for our bodies. I kissed her, catching her mouth again and again as I felt the inevitable intensity build between my thighs. She was slick and hot and so delicious . . .

“Touch yourself, come with me!” I urged her, “I’m not going to last . . .”

She slipped a hand between us; when I felt her tense and cry out, I let myself go as well, driving up hard and fast into her. ‘Mantha clung to me, riding out my climax and settling onto me afterwards when both of us were blind and dazed and unable to speak.

*** *** *** 

She was shy afterwards, untying me without speaking, but I knew what to do. I drew us a bath, and slowly undressed her as the tub filled. Carefully we got in it together and by the light of a few candles we lounged in the water, facing each other. Speaking seemed unnecessary; her beautiful dark eyes told me how much she loved me, how powerful this night had been for her. I washed her, putting as much reverence as I could into it, caressing her curves and skin, following the rinses with kisses.

She led me back to bed and I spooned myself around her. ‘Mantha drifted off to sleep, content and quiet, but I found myself still awake as I reconsidered what has passed between us. This new intimacy that was unlike anything I’d experienced before outside of a fantasy or two. Already it seemed like a dream itself. Would she regret it in the morning? Would she be embarrassed about it? Would I?

I didn’t know the answers, but given how forthright my love was generally, I suspected I’d find out soon.

*** *** *** 

I woke first and went down to make tea; luckily I remembered the situation with the kitchen floor _before_ I stepped into it, and made a quick call to have it dealt with. There is a list of preferred service agencies for Villains; people we trust to be discreet, quick and reliable. While that list includes surgeons and even a veterinarian, it also includes contractors and plumbers, so I was able to get assurances that someone would be out that morning.

I also called a restoration expert and was on the mobile with a furniture refinishing company as Samantha came downstairs looking like a satisfied cat as she brushed her hair. “Good morning querido.”

“My love,” I returned and motioned to the kitchen. “It’s being seen to this morning, so I’ll do the house-sitting.”

“All right,” she agreed, “although it’s putting a damper on breakfast.”

“Ah!” I held up a finger, “I believe ours is being delivered even as we speak.” I’d seen the car pull up, and opened the door as Gaz came up the porch steps, bags in hand.

“Take away from Waffle World as requested,” he told us, handing me some of the bags. “I’ll fetch the tea and coffee.”

As Gaz went back for the drinks, I carried our breakfast to the sunroom. ‘Mantha came up behind me and hugged my back. “Thank you for last night, by the way. It was . . . I can’t tell you how much it meant to me, Seb.”

I turned and wrapped my arms around her. “Thank you,” I murmured. “I learned a lot about _myself_ , darling.”

“Yes?” she looked sweet and a little vulnerable. “Does this mean I can run out and buy fur-lined handcuffs and black leather boots?”

I blinked. “Ah, perhaps we should . . . start a little _slower_ , my pet—"

But she was giggling and I caught onto the joke, grinning myself as she rolled her eyes. “Fun,” she whispered. “Not only sexy and wonderful but _fun_. I’m so lucky.”

I kissed her as Gaz came back, and we all had breakfast after that. Gaz took his plate of waffles outside to look around the perimeter as he always did leaving us to enjoy our food together.

“All right,” Samantha rose and wiped her lips. “I’m off; leaving Gaz with you since you’ll need him if you’re dealing with the basement and the floor, though.”

“Very well,” I agreed. “I’m going to see Auntie too. See you tonight my love.”

She sailed out of the house and I admired the sway of her hips as she did so, aware of how sensual they were. Part of me selfishly hoped she _was _pregnant. Male prerogative, mate prerogative I suppose. I’d never before considered I’d ever get the chance to start a family but ‘Mantha was bringing out those repressed longings inside me and for a moment I let myself imagine this house with children in it.__

__It—they—fit very well, I thought, and turned my attention back to the mundane matter of clearing the table._ _


	14. Chapter 14

_Samantha_

So I had it in me to be . . . a bit of a dominatrix. Huh. I really hadn’t given myself time to think about this before, but after the events of the night before I was starting to see the light. Not that I wanted to do this all the time, or that I was going to start dressing in latex, but it was interesting to finally admit that occasionally I wanted to take charge of my darling.

And he was okay with it. More than okay in fact. This was so mind-blowing that I know I was grinning as I made my way in to Zoth Laboratories. J-J greeted me and gave me a bulky letter. “Hey Doc, this came late yesterday. Where’s the monolith?”

That was their name for Gaz and I smirked. “Left him at home with the other boss today.” I looked at the envelope which was addressed to the lab. I took it into my office and got out my letter opener, curious since the return address was . . . Scotland.

The bulky papers were hard copies of the invoices I’d looked at on-line.

I felt a chill go up my spine; someone had noticed my snooping and had pinged back, but I had no idea if this was a taunt or a helping hand or a weird confession. Cautiously I looked through the rest of the envelope for anything else that might help me figure out who had sent it. 

And tucked in all the pages a small wrinkled envelope like you’d find from a florist’s shop with an address: 27 Rose Street, Arbroath, Scotland. I opened it but nothing was inside.

Damn. A clue here a serious clue. I got online and looked up the address but the closest I could find was Google street view from nearly seven years back showing a slightly dilapidated cottage. There was a car in the driveway but it was angled just enough that I couldn’t see the license place.

A little _more_ Googling and I checked my watch; I could be in Arbroath in under two hours if I booked the flight now, and I could check out this place myself. Of course the little voice in my head also said that Seb would probably tell me _not_ to; that it would be foolish and risky and I should wait, but I reasoned it was broad daylight, and in any case I’d be home before dark. I was feeling confident now, probably thanks to the night before, and if I could get any sort of lead on who the virus creator was, the better.

Besides, I’d leave word with J-J and Mr. Otterly and anyway, Seb needed to stay to get the kitchen floor fixed. Before I could talk myself out of it, I booked a flight, called for a ride and headed out.

But not before taking some precautions with me, of course.

*** *** ***

I hadn’t realized Scotland would be cold. This was a little unfortunate but I managed to pick up a hoodie at the airport, feeling weird to be wearing a ‘I (heart) Dundee’ special. My rental car was moderate and I took my time getting to Arbroath using the GPS in the car. I’d felt a little guilty so I texted Seb that I was checking out a lead, but didn’t mention what or where exactly, and that I loved him before making my way to the address on that had been listed on the florist’s envelope. 

Small place, really. I had trouble picturing any sort of criminal mastermind living in this little house. It looked like a lot of the others on the same block with nothing in particular to make it stand out. There was a van in the drive-way; some dry-cleaning service, and a lot of bushes around the front that needed trimming as far as I could see.

I parked across the street and considered my options. 1) I could simply go over, ring the bell and introduce myself as a rep from Zoth Laboratories, or 2) sit here and watch to see if anyone came in or out.

The place was listed as owned by someone named R. Master, which sounded a little strange to me. I had pondered that the entire flight until I realized that ‘Master’ in English translated roughly to ‘Del Amo’ in Spanish. Reaching for straws? Maybe a little, but I wasn’t above thinking it was a very Villain thing to do, and in any case, if this didn’t pan out no harm no foul. At the very least we could cross this person off the list, possibly.

I was kind of excited—this was real Villain work here. The sort of thing I pictured Seb and Eglantine doing all the time and now it was my turn. I could prove my worth, not just to them but also to the whole Cadre if I pulled this off. More than just a demonstration this time, and it felt a little reckless and good to at least get out and Do something. Eglantine was as good as family and I wasn’t going to let whoever had created the virus get away with attacking her.

After twenty minutes I finally decided to get out and cross the street to the house. Nothing had happened so far, and I did have a return flight to catch in a few hours, so I took the invoices with me along with a few of my secret weapons and made my way to the front porch to ring the bell. As I tried to figure out exactly what I would say—I was leaning towards simple honesty for openers—I heard an odd sort of rubbery sound coming closer behind the door. I stepped back as it opened.

“Yes?” The little old man in the wheelchair asked, looking up at me.

Oh. Did not expect this, despite noting the ramp behind me.

“Ah yes, I’m from Zoth laboratories?” I managed. “I think you sent me something?” I looked at him carefully, feeling a little . . . disappointed by what I saw.

Honestly, he was this frail little man with flyaway hair and a mustache like the front of a push-broom, wearing thick glasses that magnified his eyes like an insect’s. When he smiled, his yellowing teeth looked too big for his mouth.

“Ah yes. Come in, come in; I hoped you’d gotten my message.”

He backed up and turned, clearly expecting me to follow him inside; I did because what else was I going to do? Stepping in, I got the impression of clutter. Old person clutter that is; menthol and old newspapers; half filled water glasses everywhere and dust coating things at shoulder level. There was a scent of old cat in the air too, and I wrinkled my nose.

“Mister . . . Master?” I asked.

He spun the wheelchair and looked at me. “Oh I think we can dispense with _that_ name, yes?”

“Del Amo, then,” I corrected, giving it the correct little accented flair.

He gave a little bow of his head and smiled at me under that bush of a mustache. “Gracias. A much better name from a better time. And you are . . . ?”

“Doctor Samantha López-Campbell,” I offered up. “As I’m sure you probably know.”

He nodded, resting his elbows on the sides of his chair. “Yes, your name was listed on the property details, along with a few _others_ I recognized.”

Ah. That was how he’d made the connection, I realized. Elgantine was listed publicly an investor in the lab. I eyed him carefully; he waved for me to sit down. I had to clear off a stack of magazines to do so—most of them about home décor, oddly.

“Where to begin,” he sighed. “You and your associates have been very _diligent_ looking around this corner of Scotland. I was surprised at how quickly my search alerts went off; within hours of dealing with Horrick House. Not that I’m surprised; Miss E was always quick as a cat.”

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle,” I pointed out blandly even though I was starting to get tense. He wasn’t looking upset to be found and my common sense was telling me that _that_ wasn’t normal.

“No, I needed it to be very obvious,” he agreed. “But I thought she’d come up _herself_ , not send someone else. Especially when I went to all the trouble of taking her portrait like that. Very annoying.”

“She’s been . . . busy,” I offered up, trying to decide what to do next. “So you’re in bio-research?”

Del Amo rolled his eyes. “I was, before Eglantine had me framed for murder. By the time all _that_ foolishness was done I was sacked of course, and had not a penny left to my name but it’s a wise man who sees the changes in the wind, so I made it a point to take some . . . souvenirs with me before I left. So many samples; who would miss a few?”

I winced because it was true; between paperwork and staffing and a thousand other distractions I suspected it would be very easy to slip a few samples out of a busy place like Ninewells. “Yes. But . . .”

“Why? Why try to strike back at Eglantine Mortmont-Slay after all this time?” Del Amo finished for me, smiling for the first time since I’d come into the house. “Given that it’s only been fifteen years or so since she took my commission and then betrayed me? Well mostly it was because I had to serve my sentence of course, and deal with a few . . . mobility issues as you can see. I had years to plot. Frankly I was _sure_ she would have been aware of my release from Huntley, but apparently not. That rather made it _worse_ you know,” he confided chattily, “feeling that she didn’t consider me a threat anymore.”

“I’m sure,” I murmured, slipping my hand into my pocket as unobtrusively as I could. “Inconsiderate of her.”

“Exactly. So I had my nephew Randy spy a bit around the house to let me know the layout, and do the actual theft and planting. He was only supposed to take the _portrait_ but I’m afraid he got a little light-fingered and took some other things, little scamp. Ah well, youth, what can you do? In any case, he was only lightly questioned by the police and certainly they never bothered to see if he had any dangerous relatives.”

“And you used him because it was on the second story and you . . .” I prompted.

He nodded. “Yes, stairs being a bit beyond me at this point. I thought to myself that she’d come out and look around, and would play with the atomizer. She did so _love_ perfume,” Del Amo mused. “Especially that particular one. But no, instead her nephew comes out and _he_ gets a face-full of my virus instead! Where’s the justice in _that_? Ten years of plotting down the drain, and of course I have to get rid of my samples . . . at least of _that_ pathogen anyway. Why can’t people just _co-operate_?”

“The Slays can be very . . . obstinate,” I agreed to humor him. At this point I was feeling extremely tense and wondering if I could make a dash for the door. It wasn’t as if Del Amo could chase me, exactly, but the fact he was being so open was very disconcerting.

“ _Tell_ me about it,” he sighed. “Anyway, I thought perhaps the second-best attempt I could make would be to reach out to her newest investment, which was your laboratory of course. I thought certainly you’d let her know what you’d received and she’d be up here _with_ you, but once again . . .” he raised his hands and stared upward for a moment. “The bitch continues to _elude_ me. This is _so_ very aggravating!”

In a weird way I actually felt sorry for him and something of that must have shown on my face because he shook his head a bit. “Ah well, at least I have you, and that’s a start.”

Officially frightened now, so I pulled my hand out of my pocket and sprayed him full in the face with Insta-Sleep.

Del Amo spluttered, sneezed and ran his hands over his mustache as I got up, backing away carefully. “Just go to sleep like a good little lunatic,” I told him. “And _I’ll_ just go back home, okay?”

“Ah!” he cursed in Spanish, and looked up at me in full annoyance, rubbing his nose. “Is that any way to treat my hospitality? Reeeeeallly, Doctor Lopez-Campbell, I had higher hopes for you than this.” He flicked a switch on his wheelchair and I heard all the doors and windows of the house lock with ominous clicks.

Oh shit.

Worse, he wasn’t going to sleep. Instead he blinked and sagged a little in his chair, his expression looking somewhat stupefied.

Wrong spray. Shit, shit, shit.

“You and I are going to have a niiice little wait for Egg’tine to come and save you and _then_ I can kill her. Won’t that be nice?” Del Amo slurred a bit, his chair rumbling forward. “Oh my, what did you _give_ me, Senorita?”

I fished out my phone and hit speed dial; it rang and rang. “Pick up, pick up,” I pleaded desperately into it as I circled the coffee table to avoid Del Amo, who was weaving a little in his chair.

“Sssss’no use, my dear,” he told me cheerfully, “You are my prisoner! _Always_ wan’ed to saaay that!”

“Really, you have to let me go,” I tried to reason. “Eglantine isn’t going to come for me; I’m not that _important._ ”

“We’ll see ‘bout that,” Del Amo slurred. “Less _hope_ you are.”


	15. Chapter 15

_Sebastian_

The floor took longer than I wanted, mostly because the contractors claimed that they were concerned about the counters and appliances, and wanted to take their time in assessing the stress load, but I managed to cut through a good deal of the bluster with the assurance that if significant progress wasn’t made by the end of the day, I’d see to it that my associates would hear of the incompetence. Naturally the loss of Villain patronage was impetus enough to get the ball rolling. It’s always annoying when delays aren’t due to structural problems, but personality clashes.

It helped that I had Gaz on my side; he was a nice visual reminder of what Villainy was at its most basic. He also had good suggestions for linoleum patterns. While he supervised the work on the floor, I spoke at length with the furniture refinishers who agreed to come out and look at the pieces in the basement. Then I wandered down to have a closer look at them myself in the daylight.

There wasn’t much light of course, with only a few small windows heavily cobwebbed, but it was enough for me to see that this basement was a good size; nearly the entire floor space of the house above. I made a note to myself about having the exterminators in, and took a look at the furniture. The vanity was a great carved beauty waiting to be restored; already I could see it up in the master bedroom. The mirror would need re-surfacing, but the rest of it was still quite lovely. 

I took a picture and sent it to ‘Mantha, suggesting we stain it a nice walnut, and then took a look at the wooden file cabinets, pulling the top drawer open and dislodging a puff of dust in the process.

>

Files and files and files of legal cases, most from around the mid-thirties from what I saw. Boring and certainly superfluous. I pulled open the other drawers to see if they too held obsolete paperwork and found that they did—all but the bottom drawer. That had a small metal box and after picking it open (ah Villainy training was SO helpful) I found myself staring at a lovely collection of pre-WWI jewelry.

Three strands of heavy pearls; a pair of diamond and emerald earrings; a gold and ruby ring; mother of pearl cufflinks in silver, a calling card case of sterling with swans on it, and a platinum locket decorated with chips of onyx. 

Well, this was a _nice_ surprise. I brought it up and locked it away so that I could research it further and see if these were stolen or merely forgotten. There were no papers or notes in the box that might have helped identify the jewels, and no clue as to why they’d been left here.

None of the other file cabinets had anything else as valuable although I did find a cigar box full of pens and nibs, and another with a collection of French postcards. Whoever this old roué had been who’d owned all this, I found myself liking him. For now the cabinets could stay here in the basement while the other pieces were moved upstairs. 

All in all a productive morning made better when the two furniture refinishers showed up just as I’d finished ordering a takeaway lunch. A quick message from ‘Mantha about following up a lead popped on my mobile, but I became distracted when Gaz and the young man working on the kitchen floor began politely disagreeing about joust supports.

The politeness was about to end, so I intervened, listened, and got them to compromise. No bloodshed, and a stronger floor _for_ it, I hoped. At the very least I’d be able to get to the tea kettle before dinner. With Gaz’s help, the refinishers moved the vanity, secretary desk and piano up from the basement, setting them in the living room for the moment. Crowded, but at least they were close to where they’d be in the future. 

The refinishers were very optimistic. “Lovely stuff, sir. They just don’t make pieces like this anymore!” They gave me a very reasonable estimate for all three and told me they’d be back in the morning with a van. That would give me time to clean the drawers out in these pieces, so I agreed. One of the refinishers also gave me a few leads on a piano expert as well. “An instrument this old, well—you’ll want to talk to _them_ before we do anything to it, especially if you plan on playing it, sir.”

So much going on, but all of it good work. I felt thoroughly domestic, and it dawned on me I was getting very comfortable in this house. Not that I didn’t love my own place in London but Kensal Green was starting to feel like a home. I wandered out to feed Mr. Slowpoke, watching him sun himself in the patch near his house and spoke to him. “What do you think? A bit better than a rooftop garden?”

After seeing him snap at an overly inquisitive dragonfly, I laughed. Deeds, not words told me he was fairly content here as well, which was nice. Certainly it was closer to his natural habitat, and that was yet another plus. We had lunch together in the sunshine and afterwards I went to clean out the drawers.

More surprises. The secretary desk was full of ancient odds and ends; old keys on string, bundled letters, bills, stamps that were probably worth money now, and all the sorts of things you’d expect to find in a desk. I sorted and disposed before turning to the vanity.

The drawers here were mostly empty, save a mummified sachet and several enormous wire hair pins. The top right hand drawer though, had a green velvet lining built into it for jewelry, and again I found treasure. A little ribbon loop lay on the bottom; when I pulled it up, it revealed a hidden compartment underneath, and there, I found a small satin bag with three rings in it. The first was a mourning ring of black jet, beautifully cut in facets. The next one was a small silver band crusted with diamond chips and the last was a gold filigree ring with a cameo of a mermaid on it in blue agate.

I couldn’t wait to give it _all_ to ‘Mantha—the vanity, the jewelry, all of it. Smiling, I texted her, asking when she was coming home.

No reply. This wasn’t like her, and I tried calling.

No answer; it went straight to voice mail. 

Even MORE unlike her. I knew my darling had experiments and sometimes needed not to be disturbed but she had a setting for that and whenever I got _that_ message I respected it. But this . . . this was starting to be a bit unnerving.

I called J-J.

“Yeah, she’s not here,” came the distracted reply. “Got a letter and then took off, said she’d be back in a few hours.”

“Off to _where_?”

“I don’t know. Don’t think she said exactly, Jefe. Maybe Mr. Otterly does. Hang on--”

After an excruciatingly long time, Monty Otterly came on the line. “Mister Slay, yes, Otterly here.”

“Where did Doctor López-Campbell go?” I demanded testily. “She’s supposed to be _there_ with _you._ ”

“No, no, she’s gone sir. Headed to the airport around ten or so this morning. Have you tried calling her?”

“Yes,” I snapped, and then took a deep breath. “Sorry Otterly, I have but she hasn’t answered. Did she mention a destination?”

Even as I asked, a chill of premonition went up my spine. No. No, please _NO_ \---

“Scotland I believe sir. Hang on; I think I wrote something down here . . .”

I heard papers shuffling, and Otterly humming to himself as he searched. On my end of the line I grabbed my tablet and began a quick and completely illegal search on Samantha’s credit cards.

“Ah yes, she left an address sir. Got a pen?”

“Yes,” I muttered.

“She’s going to 27 Rose Street, Arbroath. Hope that helps, sir. Might be that her return flight’s delayed I expect.”

“Possibly,” I offered back, feeling annoyed. “If she calls or returns please let me know _at once_ , thank you.”

I hung up over his assurances and stared at my tablet—yes, round trip to Dundee, car rental, sweatshirt . . . my darling was definitely in Scotland all right, and by the time stamps, had been there for a while.

I felt numb. I felt angry. I had no idea what I would say to her but I was already up and walking.

“Gaz! I’m leaving you in charge of the house. Samantha has gone off to Scotland and I’m going to go get her. Here—” I handed him one of my standard credit cards, “pay off the floor, get yourself some dinner before you call it a night.”

“Sir?” Gaz looked concerned. 

“She’s following up on something and didn’t _tell_ me,” I sighed. “It might end up being nothing but I suspect otherwise.”

“Do you need me?” Gaz asked. “I’m ready to go _with_ you iff’n you do, sir.”

I patted his shoulder. “Thank you, but I need you _here_ at the moment. As I said, this may be nothing, however—”

I gave him the address, told him to deliver it to Auntie’s house and grimly headed out for the airport.

Sometimes it pays to be a Villain, particularly when it comes to private jets. Within two hours I was in a rental headed for 27 Rose Street. I’d put a hard clamp-down on my emotions; I had to because Samantha was quite likely in trouble and _that_ needed to be dealt with first. At the moment, I considered what I knew about this address, which wasn’t much. Owned by someone named R. Masters—probably Del Amo under another name—and also listed as the residence of one Randall Jones, employee of Dundee Cleaners, the same company that had done the drapes at Horrick House.

I re-read ‘Mantha’s last message, trying not to react to her emoji heart at the end, and packed my mobile away as I pulled up behind another rental car just half an hour before sunset. Most of the homes had lights on, and a few people walking dogs down the street. Quiet little neighborhood; hardly the sort of place to harbor trouble.

In a word, precisely where a killer would choose to live.

But I was bringing trouble, yes indeed. I had my knives in place, and a fair dose of pepper spray on me. I’d fought my conscience about bringing anything more lethal but the temptation _had_ been there. I looked over at number 27, and noted a ramp. Interesting. I got out and made my way to the door. Rang the bell.

No answer, but I heard noises inside; scuffling of some sort. The knob wouldn’t turn, so after looking around to make sure I wasn’t noticed, I hopped over the porch rail and went around to the nearest window, stretching to look inside. A thin gap in the curtains showed a rather dark living room but I didn’t see anyone. The window was also locked.

There are _always_ ways to get into a house. Quick-footing it, I darted around back and spotted the garage. It had a door, and my hunch paid off—this one _wasn’t_ locked. Once inside the garage, I picked the lock of the adjoining door to the kitchen and was standing inside it within minutes.

I heard a voice. Singing. A really rude song with disgusting lyrics and I only recognized it because it was one of Danny’s favorites. I crept to the doorway that led into the house and took a cautious look, bracing myself for what I might find or see at this point because my adrenaline was running high now.

The singing came from a man slumped in a wheelchair, and kneeling next to him was ‘Mantha, who seemed to be taking apart the arm control panel. Seeing her made something in my chest flip-flop, but I stepped around the doorway and moved quietly to stand in front of them.

“She said young man you’re blunderin’ I said it isna true, and I left her with the makings of a young cuckoo!” the man warbled from under a truly impressive mustache. He blearily looked up at me. “Oh, who’re _you_ then?”

‘Mantha looked up.

Oh that moment. We had an entire unspoken conversation in the course of a three second stare down before I cleared my throat.

“I’m Sebastian Slay, and I assume you are Rafael Del Amo?”

“You assume correct!” the man cheerfully told me. “An’ you are my prisoner too!”

“Ah, _no_ , actually. Samantha, what are you doing?” I asked her. My formal use of her name made her flinch a little.

“I’m _trying_ to rewire the controls to unlock the windows and doors,” she muttered. “Mr. Del Amo is not exactly a threat now that he’s been dosed with Insta Drunk and I’ve already gotten rid of his virus samples.”

“She _did_ too,” Del Amo broke in, slightly mournful now. “Damn it! Boiled and bleached! How _rude,_ I tell you! Years of planning down the drain! S’enough to drive a man to drink.”

“You got _rid_ of the virus?” I admit I was surprised and impressed and worried all in one. 

Samantha tossed her hair out of her eyes and nodded. “Yes. We’ve been having an interesting go-round all afternoon. I’ve had my foot run over a few times and Rafe here managed to break these controls but that’s about as dangerous as it’s gotten. I found and disposed of the samples and I’ve been _trying_ to unlock the doors. Somewhere around here there’s a jammer so I haven’t been able to call but I’m fairly close with the wiring . . .”

So saying she twisted something and we all heard the locks pop open all around the house.

Del Amo gave a huge put-upon sigh. “Damn it! Now I’m _really_ upset!”

“You shouldn’t be; a lot of this was pretty ingenious,” I heard ‘Mantha tell him as she got up and patted his hand. “But as we discussed, trying to kill Eglantine just isn’t _worth_ it, Rafe. You’re just beating your head against a wall with that.”

“Yes, yes, you’re right,” he muttered, rubbing his mustache. “Still, I hadda _try_ , Samantita. It wasa matter a _pride_. Mi machismo.”

“And you gave it a good shot, really. But it’s time to just concentrate on, oh I don’t know . . . getting back to your home decorating aspirations? You’ve got a lot to offer Arbroath,” she pointed out. “Especially with window treatments.”

I listened to this bizarre conversation and tried to think of something to say but nothing fit. Samantha leaned down to Del Amo and spoke again. “Look, as long as you let me take the portrait back, there’s nothing now that ties you to the Horrick House break-in or the virus in the atomizer, Rafe. Be smart and let this _go_ , okay? I don’t want to see you wasting your talents trying to get back at Eglantine for something that happened _years_ ago. Get _on_ with your life, do some makeovers and home shows, all right?”

“You’re right,” I heard him sigh. “So right, Samantita, si. Go on, take it and don’t worry about me. I _do_ need to get back to my life. Gracias talking to me and helping me see that. I’m grateful!”

Samantha patted his hand, and then pointed her chin off towards the sofa, where I saw a garbage bag sitting. I moved to pick it up, feeling the frame of Auntie’s portrait in it. 

She rose up and cleared her throat. “All right then, we’re going to go now, and I’m sure in the morning you’ll see things so much better, Rafe. And I’ll be checking _in_ on you, so keep that in mind, all right? Take care now.”

We left him starting to snooze in his chair and stepped out of the house. I looked at Samantha but she shook her head. “Not now. Let’s just go home.”

Good enough. I packed the portrait in the trunk of my rental and got in, waiting for her to climb into hers before we headed back to the airport.

I _still_ had no idea what I was going to say to her.


	16. Chapter 16

_Samantha_

Oh boy, I knew things were bad, but I didn’t realize _how_ bad until we climbed into the jet to head back to London. Seb was polite, making sure I was buckled in, but other than that, he completely ignored me.

Kept his attention on his tablet, didn’t bother to look up or answer my comments at all, and that hurt because I could tell he was furious by how tightly he gripped the device. I tried to say something but before the words got out I decided the hell with it and closed my mouth again. If _this_ was how he wanted to handle things, fine. I’d dealt with Eglantine’s stalker, gotten rid of the virus and if Seb didn’t like the fact that I’d done a Villain’s job then he could damned well lump it as far as I was concerned.

And under that I was tired and hungry and hurt by the cold shoulder treatment. Yes, I was thrilled he’d come for me even though I was within minutes of freeing myself. Yes I was touched that he cared enough to make sure I was safe and to get me home. All those were sweet acts of a wonderful man. But if he couldn’t even talk to me about what had happened, then we had a problem, and right now I was too exhausted to deal with it, so I didn’t. Instead I made plans to get back to the lab in the morning and write up my first-hand observation notes on the first human trial of Insta-Drunk. 

When we landed, I followed Seb to the Jag since I didn’t have a ride, but once in it, I cleared my throat. “This is ridiculous, Seb. You _can’t_ stay furious all night.”

“Try me,” he replied mildly.

“Then perhaps we shouldn’t spend the night together,” I snapped back.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

I stared at his profile in the semi-darkness, appalled. “What? So I’ve gone from being Del Amo’s prisoner to _yours_? Really?”

He flinched at that, but didn’t take his eyes from the road. “If that’s what it takes.”

“Oh for God--- _no_ ,” I told him firmly. “If you think I won’t spray you with Insta-Sleep and climb out of this car you are sadly _mistaken_ , Mr. Slay. I am _not your property_!”

“Oh try it, just _try_ it at this speed,” he taunted and raced the engine up to eighty. We flew down the Heathrow Express while he wove around slower drivers and I gasped.

“Damn it, slow down! This argument is not worth dying for!” I told him furiously.

He did, grudgingly, and I relaxed a little, wondering what to do now. I wasn’t afraid of Seb, but this unexpected side of him had me wary. Down in my heart of hearts I knew perfectly well he’d never hurt _me_ , but I couldn’t say the same about what he might do to himself. 

And _that_ scared me.

“I don’t know what to do or say,” I told him quietly. “Apparently I made some huge _mistake_ and now I’m paying for it, but I’m not sure what it was, Seb. From where I am, I did what a Villain would do. How was that wrong?”

I could see him working his jaw for a moment and that gave me some hope. “You left me,” Seb finally said in a flat voice.

“No, I was coming back. I left you a note,” I replied, but a chill went through me. Shit.

“’Mantha, I love you like no one else on this planet,” Seb growled. “You mean everything to me and I trusted you with my heart. I trusted that you would share with me as I’ve shared with you, and that would include dubious leads that would take you out of the country, yes? If _I_ had been the one to get that clue--”

“Hold it RIGHT there!” I broke in. “No, that’s bullshit. If _you_ had gotten the clue you would have done _exactly_ what I did and you know it! You would have gone off to Scotland without telling me because that’s what Villains DO, right?”

Silence. I had him dead to rights and he knew it.

Finally, “I’m _trained_ to do it; I have years of experience and that’s not the bloody _point_ anyway my love, no the fact is that you . . .”

“I?” I prompted him gently.

“Goddamn it, you _left_ me,” Seb whispered. “And out of _all_ the things you could have done, that’s the one I cannot _deal_ with.”

“You _knew_ I was coming back,” I tried to assure him but suddenly I had a vision of his parents and I felt sick. Of _course_ Seb would have issues with abandonment.

“No!” he shouted, “I _didn’t_! You were gone and I had _no_ idea where you were or what had happened to you! And while you’re a brilliant woman there are situations out there that won’t end as easily as tonight’s did! And because I _love_ you I was going out of my __mind with worry! All the scenarios I pictured—getting there too late, finding you injured or Christ, _dead_ —all because you didn’t at least _tell_ me what you were doing!”

I wanted to snap back hard, mostly because he was righteous and being so harsh about it but I couldn’t because I saw a wet streak down his high cheekbone.

This was it, the heart of it all. I’d terrified him without meaning to, so he’d overreacted in response. Neither one of us completely in the right, both of us responsible for this.

I reached over to touch his cheek, moving slowly and gently. “Querido I am so, so sorry. I know nothing I say will _change_ what I did, but I had no idea how much I hurt you,” I told him, feeling myself close to tears now.

It had been such a long and terrible day. Everything was crashing now and all I wanted was to curl up and let go of it all. I wanted to curl up with Seb and make things the way they’d been before.

“I know,” he told me in a choked voice. “That’s the hell of it. I know you didn’t _mean_ to. I had no idea I would feel this way until it . . . happened.”

We were nearly home now; I recognized the street, knew we’d be pulling up in a few minutes, so I let my hand drop to his shoulder. The contact was good for both of us; I could feel his tension loosen as he parked the car. Neither of us moved to get out, though.

“I know there’s more to be said,” I sighed, “but right now I need you. I need to hold you and be held by you. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “God _yes_.”

We stumbled our way through the jumbled furniture and up the stairs to the bedroom and once there I grabbed Seb and wrapped my arms around him as tightly as I could. The heat of him, the strength of his hug drove the breath from me but I didn’t care.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered brokenly. “Not like that. Please.”

“I won’t,” I promised him, my own tears falling now. “Never like that again.”

We stood together a long time, tangled up in each other, swaying a little as we cried together, and I don’t know about Seb but for me it was a little of everything: pain and regret and love and sorrow and relief all wrapped up in the comfort. I mattered to Seb. I mattered so very much—that was mind-blowing.

At the same time I remembered my _own_ hours of vigil in the hospital terrified for him and I understood. He mattered to me too, and that realization left me pretty clingy for the moment.

We had it bad for each other, that was for sure. After a while I pulled away, wiped my face and suggested we shower before bed, which we did.

I fell asleep with Seb curled around me, and was out quickly, but my dreams were murky. It was as if my emotions weren’t done with me yet and all of that left me insecure and jumpy. When woke a little before dawn my heart was racing at the fading memory of being chased by something large and I flinched.

Seb’s back was against mine but he rolled and dropped an arm around my waist, pulling me against him with a comforting murmur. “Shhhh, s’all right.” Just a simple comment but it helped me relax. I sighed and snuggled down against him, aware of how simple and secure this was. Once we got up and into our day matters might become complicated again. All our intentions could go haywire and everything we’d been through could still be muddled, but right here and now this was easy.

Just Seb and me, warm and cozy.

*** *** *** 

Breakfast started a little awkwardly, but I was determined to get back on track, especially with the kitchen floor strong enough to stand on again. I made poached eggs with toast soldiers and brought our plates out to the sun room. Seb looked up from his tablet and did a small double-take. “Oh.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

He smiled then, setting the device aside, shooting me a shy yet grateful look that I’d not only remembered his favorite breakfast but had made it too. I wasn’t above scoring points, and smiled back.

We ate in easy silence for a while and then I spoke up.

“All right, I’m ready to take my lecture,” I told him as I poured myself some juice. “It’s only fair, and I’m sure it will help.”

Seb looked up briefly, chewing and swallowing before he spoke. “Only one rule, ‘Mantha and it’s the same in partnership as in marriage: We are a team. That’s it.”

I’d been expecting more and must have looked surprised because he chuckled.

“That’s _it_?”

“As far as I can see, yes. We shouldn’t live in each other’s back pockets; that’s neither healthy nor productive but we should be accountable and supportive to each other.”

I considered that. “Accountable, as in, we know where the other is at all times?”

He gave me an indulgent look. “No, not falling for that. Not at _all_ times but admit it; your leaving the country is something I _should_ have known about.”

I nodded and Seb continued. “Yes, I overreacted and I can’t promise that I won’t in the future but I’m . . . aware of my issue and I am working on it.”

“Good,” I told him gently. “And from my perspective, I honestly didn’t think I’d be trapped by Rafe. My plan was that I’d find him out and call for backup, I suppose. I wanted to actually _do_ something about the threat to Eglantine and it seemed the foremost course of action.” 

“Commendable,” Seb assured me, “truly. Just in the future—consider talking to me first? We could have called my associates in Arbroath and arranged for backup before going to see the man, who by the way, is off scot-free?”

“Seb, he’s a frustrated interior decorator who went through medical training pretty much against his will. He stiffed Eglantine her fee when she wouldn’t take payments over time, and ended up with MS. Aside from the single very passive attempt on your aunt’s life, he’s most likely harmless,” I told him. “Three and a half hours of talking to a drunk gets you their whole life story you know. And I wasn’t kidding; I’m going to see to it he gets some work. He’s got an _amazing_ portfolio.”

He laughed, shaking his head good-naturedly. “So we’ve had to deal with two assassins and neither one of them was effective in the end. I suppose Auntie should be chuffed.”

“Maaaybe. What time is it?” I asked, running my bare foot over Seb’s under the table.

He shot me a sweetly smutty look. “A little after seven. Gaz won’t be here until nine, I believe.”

“Oh good,” I murmured. “I have something to share with you. Upstairs.”

“And by coincidence _I_ have something to share with you as well,” he replied, grinning.

And that’s how we ended up realizing that 1) both of us loved noisy happy make-up sex, and 2) when you rush to put on a condom, they can break.

The latter we discovered during clean-up, and Seb apologized, but I simply sighed. “Es el destino, mi amado.” I told him. “You and your evil deseo.”

“Estamo destinado a ser padres,” he agreed, and kissed me.

We’d know in a few weeks, I fretted.

end

_Next: The Vault of Vaduz. A little vacation in Lichtenstein gets complicated when Danny needs help and Samantha forgets herself. Literally._

Note: If you've read and liked this, I'd love to hear that. It's hard to keep posting without knowing if anyone is enjoying it. Thanks.


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